


The Last Soul Sam Ever Touched

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Series: The Last Soul Sam Ever Touched [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthrogryposis, Brother Feels, Brotherly Bonding, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel in the Bunker, Comfort/Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, Disability, Disabled Character, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s09e17 Mother's Little Helper, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, London, Love, M/M, Mark of Cain, Men of Letters Bunker, Nightmares, POV Sam Winchester, Past Lives, Physical Disability, Protective Sam Winchester, Reincarnation, Romance, Sam Feels, Sam in Love, Sneaking Around, Sneaking Out, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Souls, True Love, Wheelchairs, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam discovers that Abaddon is mining souls. As he begins opening the jars and releasing them back to their bodies, he finds that one of the souls won’t budge from its jar. He takes it back to the bunker with him and asks Castiel to help find the soul’s identity. They soon discover that it belongs to someone named Amy Sullivan, a woman lying in a hospital in St. Louis. Sam decides he can’t just let the soul sit on a bunker storage shelf forever, so he disappears in the middle of the night without Dean or Castiel, who are completely absorbed in each other anyway. When he arrives, he figures out exactly why her soul resists going back—the body is recovering from the latest in dozens of surgeries to try and relieve a disability he’s never heard of in his life. But that’s only the beginning. Soon Sam realizes Amy is different. Very different. There was a reason Abaddon wanted her soul so badly in her new demon army. The truth is Amy Sullivan is not all human, which is a prospect that Sam knows, as a hunter, he should leave behind and never see again. It’s too late though. Sam will never be the same after knowing Amy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Souls. Real, living, trapped souls. They glowed at Sam Winchester, lined up on the shelf in glass jars, and he asked himself if he should just walk away.

No...

No, he could never do that.

The brightness sliced right through soft tissues of his eyes, forcing him to squint as he yanked the top off the first jar. Instinct guided him. Internal gratitude flooded his chest as if his own soul spiraled around his ribs and reminded him that he once existed as a hollow human shell. How easily his soul could have been harvested for Abaddon's attempt at building an army too. If he didn't release them, scores of empty human shells might never be filled again.

Spiraling, curling balls of light flitted through the air and disappeared through the first exits they found. Life flew through the decaying convent. Joy permeated each breath he inhaled as if he absorbed traces of gratitude from each soul. They were intelligent. They were individual lives.

Sam dragged a rough hand under his eye, concealing a stray tear as the last soul twisted enthusiastically through the air and disappeared. He couldn't imagine his own soul dancing freely that way. Dean once told him of the way Castiel described its likely condition, how Lucifer probably stripped it raw just for the hellish pleasure of it. Something began to hurt as he turned and shuffled toward the only remaining way out of the old convent.

Leaning on a crate, Sam stepped over debris but stopped so abruptly as light caught his eye that his shoes screeched on the floor. Faint, it edged his peripheral sight. He stepped over the possessed nun's body and followed the shimmering bluish-white glow into an anteroom no bigger than a walk-in closet. There he discovered two more jars stored separately from the bulk, stashed far behind useless rubble on a top shelf. As he cleared away crumbling boxes and crates covered in cobwebs, he noticed the souls themselves--they were a different color. Subtly so. White with liquid flames of blue and green.

Sam stacked the jars in one arm and took them into the open space, stepping over the nun's fresh corpse once again. His conscious nagged at him and refused to let him abandon those souls after letting the others go.

The first soul took off into the night without incident.

The second jar in the crook of his elbow left him with a lonely sensation. Watching souls fly free had been oddly joyful and beautiful, but it was over so fast. Admittedly, there wasn't much to be celebrated in his work and certainly no beauty like that. So as he opened the final jar, he told himself to savor the moment. Stow it away in his own soul to remember that he'd once witnessed something truly stunning in his world of ugliness.

Except nothing happened. Sam waited.

And then he waited some more.

The ball of light floated there in that jar, unmoving.

Brows knitted together in confusion, Sam peered into the jar and even sniffed at it as if the soul was canned food gone bad. He silently laughed at himself for that one. Then he pointed the jar toward the air vent where most of the other souls escaped, yet that timid little thing didn't make any moves toward freedom. It struck him as sluggish, in fact. A disconcerting thought settled over his brain like a shroud--what if the person was dead and the soul wasn't reaped? Metatron jacked everything up so bad in Heaven. What if newly dead people were blocked from reaching Heaven too?

Sam tipped the jar over his open palm. Slow, like the flow of honey, the soul rolled through the jar and dropped into his hand. Warm like a fleece blanket, yet neither gas nor liquid, it took Sam a moment to comprehend the power of holding someone's soul in his hand. The bluish-green flames licked his skin like hot vapor. If he stuck his finger through it, he suspected he would be burned.

Still, the soul remained in his palm, bigger than a baseball, and seemed content away from its body.

Leaving it alone in an abandoned, decaying convent didn't sit well in his gut and neither did knowing Abaddon would eventually farm it for a demon army. He carefully fed the soul back into the jar and capped the lid again for safe keeping. They didn't really have time to deal with one little lost soul in the midst of hunting for Abaddon and Metatron, but he couldn't just ignore it. Dean may have robbed him of choosing his own path, but no more. Sam intended to follow his conscience on that one.

"Cas? Hey." The angel picked up on the fourth ring. "You anywhere near the bunker? Okay. Meet me there tomorrow. I've got a soul here--Abaddon's been mining them. Yep." He slid into the car with the soul stashed inside of his jacket and hit the road back to Lebanon.

*****

Of course Sam found the bunker empty. He wandered room to room without even putting his bag down as if Dean would turn up with a smile and another strange, fantastic meal. But as Sam reached the bunker kitchen, he found it in the same disastrous condition it had been when he left. If his brother was still himself, he would never allow the kitchen to get into such a mess. Once, it had been his favorite place.

Sam shook himself and stalked back toward the bunker library. He couldn't fall into that pattern again. Obsessing about each other was the reason they ended up in that state in the first place. He reminded himself that Dean's inability to let him go justified letting an angel possess him. There. The anger rose. It didn't matter where Dean was. They were both grown men and they certainly didn't need to know what the other was doing twenty-four hours a day. Not giving a crap about what Sam wanted was how Dean ended up with that red, raised mark on his arm. The Mark of Cain was just another disaster waiting to happen.

Fresh anger nearly propelled Sam's arm into slamming his bag on one of the library tables until he felt the weight of a glass jar wrapped in his clothes. The soul hadn't done anything wrong and didn't deserve being smashed in an outburst against his brother. He huffed. Then a deeper breath filled him. It took everything he had those days just to hold himself together.

He only sat down and pulled the jar out of his bag when he was sure he could control his emotions. The soul floated, encased in glass like a jar of peaches. A stranger somewhere had no idea they were missing their essence. Years ago he knew he wasn't interested in eating or sleeping, and he really didn't feel anything toward other people, but he never guessed he lost his soul. The news came as a horrible shock--or it would have if he could have felt anything. He knew the situation needed a careful touch.

The glowing, bright ball rolled into his hand. He couldn't resist opening the jar and experiencing that sensation again. Tingling heat, yet nothing like a tangible object, filled his palms as he shaped his hands into a bowl. Staring at it too long and so close left blind spots over his vision but he found himself unable to look away long. How many people could say they held a human soul in their hands? If he tried hard enough, maybe he could imagine what kind of person this was. Did the soul feel him? Was it able to discern its surroundings? Or was it just a ball of liquid gas placed in a human body like jamming batteries into a television remote control?

"Hello, Sam."

He jumped. Castiel's low tone didn't come across as threatening but Sam had been horribly jumpy for weeks.

"Cas, hey," he stammered. "I'm glad you came."

The angel's eyes reflected the light of the soul in Sam's hands and he stared, confused and perhaps uncomfortable. "You shouldn't handle a soul that much, Sam." He came closer, though with some hesitation. "Why have you kept it? Oh, Sam. Put it back in the jar. Please." The please entreaty came like an afterthought but the punctuated syllables suggested Castiel knew a great deal that Sam did not. "What happened?"

"I let a bunch of souls go. There was a convent--it was abandoned--and I went to investigate murders. You know, our kind of thing." Sam carefully fed the soul back into the jar as he spoke. "Abaddon's been turning souls for her army. One of her demons was still there guarding these and I killed her. Then I found all these souls. All of 'em took off except this one. I couldn't just leave it there. I mean, this is a person somewhere, right?"

"Perhaps," Castiel said a bit ominously.

Sam observed the angel grab the jar and study its contents. "Look, I know you're up to your elbows with Metatron stuff but if you could give me a lead on identifying this soul, I'd really--"

"--This soul isn't human. Not completely," Castiel replied, cutting him off.

"W-what?" That was the last thing Sam expected.

Castiel interrogated him. "Were there other souls like this one? Didn't you notice it's a different color?"

"I ... uh ... There was one like this. I released it." His head tipped slightly and he couldn't seem to get his brain around that reaction.

"I see," muttered the angel.

"...Monster?"

Castiel shook his head.

"...Turning demon?"

Again, Castiel shook his head.

The situation quickly had Sam exasperated and he let out a heavy sigh. "Cas, you gotta help me out here. I don't have a soul species handbook. I called you because this is way above my pay grade."

"There's a spell," said Castiel, setting the jar on the table. "I can identify the soul, I think. I haven't done this spell before though."

"Great. What do we need?"

"Sam," he said without making any moves toward doing the spell. "If I do this for you, you must return the soul and come straight home. We're assuming the soul can be returned at all right now. There's a chance it may be lost. If you give the soul back to the body, don't linger. Get in and get out."

The tension in Castiel's voice surprised Sam. He nodded a bit dumbly but he blurted, "What's the big deal? It's not dangerous, right?"

Castiel hesitated. "It could be."

"Cas, what are you not telling--"

Suddenly the tether of attention from Castiel to Sam broke with the distant slamming door. The angel's eyes averted beyond Sam to the curving stairwell. There came Dean with that ratty old duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. In that moment, Sam knew he'd have to stand on his head or spontaneously combust to get Castiel's attention back. Yeah, there it was. Castiel left the table having picked up the scent like a bloodhound and approached Dean without a word. He sensed something wrong.

"Hey," Dean muttered to them both. His eye fell on the angel for a moment, but he avoided full eye contact. "What are you doing here, Cas? Got a lead on Megadouche?"

"No. Sam needed my help." Castiel strolled a slow path around Dean, sizing him up. "Dean--"

"--I'm gonna grab a shower."

Spinning on his heels, Dean attempted to keep it casual and make a hasty exit. Castiel didn't miss a beat as a hand snatched Dean by the wrist and yanked him backwards. He ripped the sleeve away, revealing the scar burned into the hunter's forearm. The room turned so thick that even Sam had trouble breathing as blue eyes stared helplessly into green.

"What have you done?" Castiel murmured.

"Look, it's no big deal. I got a hold on it," replied Dean rather nonchalantly. "This is the only way to ice Abaddon. I'm cool. I got it."

The angel shook his head as if unable to comprehend willingly taking on the Mark of Cain. "You don't know what you've done," he told Dean, letting go of his wrist. "Why didn't you come to me? We take on these problems together. What were you thinking?"

That set Dean off and his face hardened into something dark, something not quite himself. "I'm thinking of icing Abaddon and then Crowley! Somebody's gotta take control."

"Yeah, together never really meant _together_ so much as it did Dean calling the shots," Sam interjected in a highly purposeful swipe at his brother. "Don't you know, Cas? He's a country unto himself. We're too emotional and too feeble to make choices for ourselves. Thank God we have Dean here to make more deals with demons without talking to us first."

"All right, that's enough!" barked Dean.

Sam had enough. Blood rushed through his body in a familiar warning sign that he was steadily losing control. Dealing with his brother at all anymore left him exhausted and frustrated, especially knowing--sensing it deep down--that Dean wasn't really himself anymore. He did it all without trusting Sam to be there or to help like a partner should. So he threw a hand up and retreated toward the stairs. No matter what they did, it was too late. Dean had that mark seared into his forearm and that left Castiel and Sam to deal with the fallout.

The upper level of the bunker welcomed Sam with the exact silence that he craved. So did the room where he slept. He never considered the place home like Dean did but at least it afforded him the refuge he needed.

He flopped across the bed and slung his arm over his face, realizing that he left before Castiel identified the soul. He left the soul in the library with them as well. With an irritated sigh, he considered going down to grab it before Dean did something else stupid, but he also knew when he wasn't needed. Castiel was probably down there kissing it and making it better. Maybe not literally, of course, but Sam wasn't blind. They'd been dancing around an affair for years whether either of them could admit it or not. Hell, maybe they already were together and he hadn't seen it yet. Whatever the case, he sure as hell wasn't going back down to the library.

Sam hitched a knee up, never quite fitting on any bed. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths as the blood thrumming past his ears slowed. The gym. Yes. He'd go to the gym in the morning and take his frustration out on the treadmill.

Blackness seeped in. A heavy blanket of nothing draped over his body. Quiet, isolated. A void of thought and feeling.

Sam slept.

*****

The younger Winchester brother's body jerked and threw him out of sleep so violently that it felt like a nightmare. He sat up on his elbow, scrubbing a hand down his face. At first he didn't even realize he's been asleep but the watch on his left wrist read 4:36 am. Well, he almost made it through a whole night.

Pushing himself upright on the bed, Sam yawned wide like a lion and arched the kinks out of his spine. There on the unused nightstand, he noticed a glow. The soul in a jar. A note leaned up against it. Grabbing the paper, he recognized Castiel's compact, meticulous handwriting.

_Dear Sam,_

_This soul belongs to 26-year-old Amy Sullivan in St. Louis, Missouri. I cannot provide more detail than that. I was blocked. I do not believe she is conscious. Begin with hospitals. Be careful._

_Sincerely,_  
 _Castiel_

It felt strange looking at the glowing ball in the jar and having a name for it now. Her. The soul was a her. Sam pieced together little details like Sullivan being an Irish name. If she was unconscious somewhere in St. Louis, maybe returning her soul would restore her health.

Sam packed his duffle bag without a word. Taking the Impala would piss Dean off, so he decided to walk into town and rent a car. Without telling anyone, Sam left the bunker with the soul tucked in his arm. They wouldn't need him. They never did as long as they had each other. Still, he gave it like a half hour before Dean started calling him asking where he went and why he didn't tell anyone.


	2. Chapter 2

"Friend or family member, sir?" The nurse scribbled on a chart and asked the question without giving Sam much attention.

He hadn't gotten that far in the other St. Louis hospitals. Thoughts of shifting his search to morgues came in dreadful waves until that nurse in the surgical floor of Barnes-Jewish Hospital spoke as if Amy Sullivan might be there.

"Uh, friend," Sam replied, feeling the weight of her soul in the backpack slung over his shoulder. "Is she here?"

"Oh yeah, she's still here. Procedures like hers require longer hospitalization. There have been complications as well. I doubt she'll be released before Thursday, and that's being generous, all things considered," the nurse explained. It seemed she took his question differently than he meant it.

"What complications?" he asked.

"Repeated and prolonged exposure to anesthesia in patients like Miss Sullivan sometimes make coming out of it difficult," she replied. "The procedure was done two days ago but she hasn't fully woken yet."

"Right." Sam nodded and pretended as if he understood what she meant. Repeated and prolonged exposure suggested she'd had more than one surgery. Pieces clicked together in Sam's mind. His new working theory became resistance on the part of that soul in going back to an unhealthy body. "Can I see her, please?"

"Sure. Room 5249 right over there." The nurse pointed with her pen toward a corner room off the nurse's station.

Sam thanked the nurse and trudged past several rooms populated by other patients recovering from surgery. The strangest sense of anxiety flipped his stomach, which confused him immensely, because he considered the whole thing any other case. He dropped the backpack off his shoulder and carried it by the top loop through his fingers. It seemed less threatening, like maybe he just wasn't so large and imposing. He even found himself hunching and ducking slightly to take some of his height away.

There Amy Sullivan lay in a narrow hospital bed with a blanket drawn to her chest. A neighboring bed closer to him stood empty. At least there wouldn't be witnesses, he thought as he kicked the doorstop and let the door drift shut.

Alone with the unconscious woman, Sam rounded the end of her bed and flipped open her chart. Everything checked out as far as her identity, but then his feeble medical knowledge struggled to comprehend words like _Arthrogryposis_  under diagnosis boxes and  _femoral osteotomy_ under procedure boxes. Impulsively, he put his backpack on the floor long enough to snap pictures of her chart with his iPhone. Why exactly, he didn't know. Morbid curiosity, perhaps.

He chided himself to quit stalling and release her soul. So Sam came to her bedside with his backpack and removed the jar to the stainless steel nightstand. Despite daylight filling the room, Amy Sullivan's soul blared forth like a lantern in a dark tunnel.

"Hi, Amy. I'm Sam. Can you hear me?" He didn't think so but he tried it anyway.

No response. Sam sighed, having no idea what to do, but he rolled down her blanket and exposed a white and mint green hospital gown over a petite figure. As he rolled down the blanket to her waist, something amiss caught him by surprise. The long, slender hand at her side curved like a hook, severely contracted inward toward her wrist. He found the other hand in the same condition. Then the bigger picture began to sink in for him--slightly narrowed shoulders, limbs thinner than other females as if lacking muscle mass--yet her face seemed serene. Beautiful, even. Dark hair wound around one shoulder in a lengthy braid with caramel and red streaks. Long black lashes and pink lips left little doubt of her womanhood and, honestly, he didn't find himself turning away from the apparent disability.

Of course, his working theory had been the correct one. He thought so, anyhow. The soul had no desire to return to a body with such a limited life and he questioned himself about whether to really make that happen. But what would he do with a soul? Store it on a shelf in the bunker to collect dust for decades? It wouldn't be right to call on a reaper and have her taken to a Heaven run by Metatron either.

"Um, okay... Amy..." Hell, he didn't know what he was doing. He opened the jar and laid it on its side on her stomach. The soul made no effort to emerge. "I dunno if you can hear me or anything... you, uh, you gotta try to put yourself back together again. Nurses might come in any second now. C'mon. You can do it."

What the hell _was_ his life anyway? What normal man drove hundreds of miles to put a woman's soul back in her body? Hands braced on the edge of her bed, he leaned over her sleeping, serene face. She looked familiar. Yes, there was a glimmer of something,  _recognition_ , but he couldn't put his finger on it. He tapped the bottom of the jar, chuckling at his own ridiculous impulse. It wasn't a scared animal. It was a human soul. Wait, no it wasn't. Castiel had said she wasn't completely human, a fact that he'd forgotten until then, and his guard went up just a bit.

"I know you're not wanting to go back," he began, not really knowing where to go with it. "I didn't either. My soul was taken from me too and it was really messed up when I got it back. But it's  _my_ soul. I'm the only one who can decide what to do with it. You know?"

He watched the jar as intently as he watched the lady.

"You gotta give life a chance," he continued. "I'm not gonna lie--Heaven and Hell are real places and they're so jacked up right now that you're better off here with the rest of us, even if your body--your body--"

The glowing ball intensified until the white core nearly engulfed the blue and green flames licking the glass from within. He backed off instinctively, uncertain of what would happen, and observed in stunned silence as the ball swirled through the air above her body. An abrupt downward cut brought her soul to her lips, swiftly, fluidly. Her mouth pried open wide and her torso lifted off the stiff hospital mattress. Beeping monitors sped up as she sucked in a groaning lungful of air, drawing the soul into her with it.

And then it ended.

She went limp again, her head lolled to one side, asleep as peacefully as ever. A moment of hesitation passed. Sam stepped closer and took the empty jar away, satisfied that her soul remained in tact within her body where it belonged.

Stirring slightly, Amy took a breath as her inner self kicked its way to the surface of consciousness. Her features tensed and a faint groan indicated pain.

Then sluggish pale green eyes awoke and fell on Sam's face. "Navy nurses already? Don't you guys usually take third shift? You're pretty...." She began fading again. The subtle familiarity of her appearance sharpened with a faint smile. Still, she was awake for a moment and spoke to him. Maybe the soul situated in her the right way after all.

Sam tapped her cheek gently, bringing her round again. "Hey, Amy, you okay? Lemme see you awake again."

She obeyed, still quite sluggish though. As she worked to focus on his looming shape, the slightest extra arch in her brow hit Sam like a bullet to the brain. That lady was a dead ringer for Scarlett O'Hara, except longer and richer colored hair. What had been her name--Vivien something. It was eerie, really. Something about her eye color struck him as looking through a wormhole in time too.

"Uh... you feeling okay?" he croaked.

"Hip hurts," she mumbled.

"Your hip?" That must have been where she had surgery. And that wasn't his area of expertise. "Do you know what day it is?"

She thought about it. "Wednesday."

"No, it's Friday." He guessed Wednesday had been the day of both her soul being stolen and her surgery. "Amy, did anything weird happen before they took you in for your surgery, or even in the days before it?"

"I don't think so." Her brows knitted together and several glimpses of that _Gone With the Wind_ actress in distress paraded through his mind. "Strange like what? Just who are you?"

"My name's Sam Winchester," he said, pulling up a chair to appear friendlier. "I investigate strange things that happen to people. Okay, this might sound weird but have you ever seen anybody with black or red eyes? I mean completely filled in. No whites around here." His finger twisted a quick circle around his own eye.

Instant fear widened Amy's eyes and she pressed herself further into her pillow as if trying to escape the memory. "That was a nightmare. It-it happens in surgery," she stammered.

Sam draped a hand over hers, hoping to calm her nerves. "When did you see this person? I need to know everything. It's important."

"I-I was rolled down to surgery like always. The anesthesiologist started doing his thing and then another nurse came in. She said something and the gas guy left. It's happened before so I didn't think anything of it." Amy swallowed hard, partially from exhaustion and partially from the fear induced by recounting it. "I mean, I thought I was already out and having a dream. She leaned over me and I saw black like oil spread over her eyes and she said I was special, that I was helping a great cause."

"You didn't try to stop her?" asked Sam.

She shot him a dangerous, narrow look. "You try to stop someone when you're drugged out of your mind."

"Okay, okay," he acquiesced with a hand raised. "Keep going."

"Well, I kinda went fuzzy. She said some stuff to my chest in a different language and the operating room went white. That was the last thing I remember until I woke up here." Lips pursed together and eyes clamped shut, she collected herself. "You're telling me it was ... it was  _real_?"

"Unfortunately, yeah," Sam replied. He decided to go with blunt honesty. There really wasn't another way to go about it. "What you saw was probably a nurse possessed by a demon and that demon harvested your soul. There's a war going on for control of Hell. One side's mining souls to build a demon army. They wanted yours for some reason."

Amy's pale green eyes narrowed. She shifted on her pillow--apparently she  _could_ move on her own--and she stared at him for a long moment. Finally, she said sharply, "Are you stoned?"

"Sometimes I wish I was." He snickered. Really, he couldn't stop it.

"You really expect me to believe a demon sucked my soul out of my body for some war in Hell?" The laughter came out bitter and condescending as if she'd been bullshitted the majority of her life by everyone out there. "Who are you again?"

"I'm Sam Winchester. Look, you don't have to believe me. It's fine. Doesn't change anything. I brought your soul back and that's why you're awake and okay now. Before, you were close to a coma. Don't you wonder why the last couple of days are a big blank spot in your head?" He grabbed the rim of the jar, showing it to her. "They stored your soul in this thing. I'm a hunter. That means I hunt stuff most people think aren't real--demons, angels, werewolves, vampires, blah blah blah. I killed the demon guarding the harvested souls and released them. Yours needed a little coaxing to go back."

Amy avoided eye contact suddenly. His words changed her color. An ashen quality, though rather subtle, veiled her flesh.

"Did you want to die in this surgery?" He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a gentler level.

The door to the hospital room blasted open and the steel handle lodged into the tiled wall. Laughingly, a nurse in blue scrubs with curling dark hair tumbling down her shoulders strode into the room. Cateye glasses elegantly framed the blackness she flashed at them. The name tag pinned to her pocket read Cecily Kramer. Her chuckling grew into full cackling as Sam bolted from his chair, stretching protectively over Amy's body.

"Of course, she wanted to die, Sam! We heard the distress in her ripe, juicy soul." The demon Cecily pulled a loaded syringe from her pocket. "Why'd you have to go and replant this soul, hunter? Now I gotta waste time harvesting the fruit again."

Instinct moved Sam's body faster than his mind processed. He climbed onto Amy's bed and leaped at the demon, Ruby's blade drawn, but she raised a hand. A force smacked into him and shoved him backwards into the opposite wall, where he remained cemented against the old drywall. He watched, horrified, as the demon nurse popped the top off the needle and tested the flow of liquid from it. No matter how much he grunted and strained his muscles, he couldn't peel away from the wall.

"Get away from me!" Despite the pain of just having surgery, Amy scooted to the edge of her bed. Only when she didn't climb out and run away did Sam fully realize that she couldn't walk. She never could.

"Shh, shh, precious. It'll be over soon." Cecily smiled like a viper as she pet Amy's hair.

The patient cried out, croaked, and sucked tense breaths as if panic consumed her so thoroughly that she couldn't even scream properly. "W-w-what _are_ you?!"

"Don't you listen?" Leaning close to her ear, Cecily seethed the phrases. "I'm a demon, sweetheart. You will be too, all in good time. We're defending the new Queen of Hell's throne. Now doesn't that sound like a great honor? Especially for your kind, darling." She continued petting the panicked woman. "Oh, did the Winchester not get to that part? See, you're different, Amy. So very, very different. You're neither here nor there, with a foot in both worlds." Eyes turned up to Sam, sliding further toward the ceiling. "Kinda like him, actually. Tell me, Sammy boy, is your soul up for grabs too? I'd get employee of the month for collecting two of your kind."

" _Fuck. You._ " Amy spat the words between gritted teeth with such tenacity in spite of her body trembling with fear.

Cecily cackled again as she grabbed Amy's IV line. "Good girl! Hold onto that anger! It'll make you turn fas--"

A sharp scream punched out of the demon as she lifted off her feet. She dropped the syringe as her body tumbled head over feet across the empty neighboring bed. The second her skull bounced off the wall, exploding the back of her head with the intense force, her power over Sam let go and he dropped to the floor. Another force in the room ripped that demon clean off her feet and stunned her body long enough to break her control, yet Sam had no idea how that happened. He only knew he had to kill her before she regained consciousness. Crawling, stunned by his fall, he plunged Ruby's blade into the chest and it convulsed with the last light of demon life.

Ignoring rubbery legs, Sam jumped to his feet. He faced Amy, lying stiff and horrified on the edge of her hospital bed. The realization slowly sunk in as he approached her.

"Did you ... did you do that?" he asked, astonished.

Amy tore her eyes from the demon's corpse. "I-I-I don't know. I was scared and I was screaming at myself to push her away."

"Well, I guess..." he said, glancing at the body over his shoulder, "...I guess you _did_ push her then." But the noise certainly meant people would be coming to investigate soon. He went into action. "Okay, we gotta get outta here. I can't leave you not knowing if there are more."

"I'm not arguing," she blurted, eager to escape. "My wheelchair's in that closet over there. You're gonna have to pull out my IV."

"Got it," Sam agreed, following instructions.

Once she believed him and quit fighting him, they worked together seamlessly. It was uncanny, almost the way he'd worked with Jess when she was alive, or in a family way, the way he worked with Dean. He unfolded and put together her wheelchair in a few simple steps just by her verbal direction. Her calmness in spite of a dead body heaped near the bathroom was an astounding thing that he'd probably think over in detail later. For now, they worked on getting out as quickly as possible. He set aside knowing she wasn't human too. Compartmentalizing it was the only option at the moment.

Amy gritted her teeth, tough as a soldier, as Sam lifted her as carefully as he could and fed her body into the wheelchair. He buckled the seatbelt and grabbed the blanket from the bed to tuck around her waist and legs.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "Just get me outta here fast. Don't pull the IV line yet. They'll notice out there. Tell them you're taking me for a walk and they won't question it. We'll pull it once we're outside."

"Good thinking," Sam admitted as he grabbed her IV bag and hooked it to the back handle of her wheelchair. "You sure you haven't done this before?"

"I just know things sometimes," she said quietly.

*****

"You doing okay?" Sam asked for the fourth time.

Eyes in the passenger seat turned to him, amused, as streetlights glowed and skimmed over the car. "I'm fine. A little pain's nothing I can't take."

"Okay." Sam nodded. He guided the car a bit more gently around highway corners and silently thanked the fates for Dean not driving that night. "Because, you know, I can stop and get ibuprofen or something. It's not as fun as what you had in your IV but--"

"--Sam, you're hovering," Amy retorted kindly, but she made her point.

Silence fell for a little while, all except the low hum of the radio. He cleared his throat and commented, "You know you look like Vivien Leigh?" He'd remembered the old actress' name somewhere close to the Kansas state line.

"I get that sometimes," she said noncommittally.

"So you got any family you wanna call?" he asked.

"Nope," she replied with the same noncommittal tone.

That surprised him. "None?"

"I don't have any family left. I've been living in a group home for four years," she said with a touch of darkness. "I hated it. I don't ever wanna go back. Far as I'm concerned, this is all fine with me. I mean, getting my soul swiped was no Sunday picnic but I got it back and I'm in one piece. Life goes on."

"You're taking this pretty well considering you threw a demon across the room with your mind and watched me kill the thing." And just to be sure, he'd done the usual tests before he put her in his car. Everything checked out. None of the known weapons affected her, yet both Castiel and the demon had said she wasn't entirely human. "You sure you haven't done this before? You can be square with me. Nothing's gonna weird me out."

Amy chuckled. He wasn't sure why. "I scare people. I always have. Not because of my wheelchair or anything but because I know too much. Sometimes I see things before they happen and occasionally I hear people's thoughts. I pick up on feelings and stuff too. Nothing like today's ever happened before though. I just figured I was one of those psychics or whatever and I ignore it a lot. Living in the group home was stressful enough without all that on top of it."

Everything she said hit a little too close to home for Sam. It occurred to him that she might have been one of the other babies given demon blood like him, yet he decided against it because she should have been dead by then if it was true. The rest of them were dead. She wasn't involved in any of it that he recalled, but the demon in the hospital referred to them as being of the same kind. Something didn't add up. Either she really did have demon blood like him, or _he_ wasn't entirely human like her. He didn't know which option scared him more.

"Have you got any family?" she asked, breaking his contemplative silence.

"Just my brother, Dean. He lives in the bunker with me," he explained without getting into their strained relationship. "Then there's Castiel. He's staying with us now, I think." Especially since he found the Mark of Cain on Dean's forearm. "Cas is an angel."

"Oh, he's a nice guy, huh?"

"No--I mean, he is, yeah--but he's a _literal_ angel from Heaven."

"Oh...." She seemed to take it in stride once it sunk in her mind. "I guess if demons exist.... Wait, why's an angel living with your brother?"

Sam laughed a quick, loud burst at the steering wheel. "Oh man, that's a loaded question."

Amy's soft laughter reverberated through the car. She seemed to catch on but didn't push the subject. It made Sam think of what a real lady should be--not just a female in the biological sense--but a _lady_ who knew when backing away from the line of gossip was warranted. He was so accustomed to being around pushy, loud hunters who measured their manhood by how aggressive they were in getting their information. The air felt stiff in the car. Familiar again. Weirdly familiar.

"You really live in a bunker?" she asked. A lady always knew when to change the subject.

"Yeah," he replied. "My brother and I are what you'd call legacy members of something called the Men of Letters. We're the only ones left to our knowledge. Our grandfather was one of the Men of Letters in the 50s, which was more about studying the supernatural like scholars than hunting it the way we do now. The bunker's safe from every known creature out there."

Amy nodded in the passenger seat. "Why do you hunt instead of study?"

"I've been a hunter my whole life. I didn't really get a choice." He reported the facts with detachment from the emotions. "My mom was killed by a demon when I was a baby. That's why my brother and I do it."

"And your father?"

"Dead eight years."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sincerely. A moment of contemplation followed. "Well, at least you still have your brother. My dad didn't want me and my Mom's doing ten to fifteen."

"Prison?"

"Yep. She was heavy into drugs. I don't need either of them." She smirked and he even felt it next to him. "Apparently I can defend myself. Who knew?"

"Who knew is right," Sam repeated, thinking back to his own years of being psychic.

*****

They arrived at the bunker with the soft oranges and pinks of dawn. Sam knew Dean wouldn't be up for hours but Castiel didn't sleep, so he called the angel and asked him to come outside. He didn't know how well it would go over but he intended to stand his ground. Amy needed a safe haven until he found a permanent home for her.

"Soon as Cas comes out, I think I'm gonna carry you inside instead of using the wheelchair if that's okay. There are a lot of steps. Cas can bring in your stuff," he said, leaning on the passenger door and peering into her window. He could tell she was getting sore.

"Okay," she said a bit meekly.

Sam sensed it. "Don't worry. Cas doesn't look weird. He just looks like a regular guy."

"Okay," she said again.

In short order, Castiel appeared, taking powerful strides through the grass to Sam's car. Amy's brow furrowed and she seemed stunned into silence. He followed her eye line far above Castiel's head in an arching trajectory and even Castiel's gait slowed momentarily when he saw her in the car. Did she see his wings? Did he see whatever she was?

"Hello, Sam."

"Hey, Cas. This is Amy Sullivan," introduced Sam, though it seemed unnecessary.

The angel gave her a polite nod and she mimicked the greeting. They seemed to size each other up and Sam didn't know what to make of that. It almost appeared like Castiel perceived her as a danger, but if that was really the case, Sam doubted she's still be alive at that point. Seeing the bunker was both sacred and dangerous. Castiel would never let a real enemy have access to it.

"Do you require assistance?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah, can you grab the wheelchair and bags?" requested Sam. "I'm gonna put her in my room. Bed's newer."

The angel nodded in silence and set about to his task. As Sam bent to carefully gather up Amy's five-foot-one-inch frame in his arms, he took great care not to smash or bend her right hip more than necessary. Along the ride, she'd explained the surgery that had been intended to give her stiff joints and malformed hip bones more stability and mobility. The basis of her condition was, in fact, joints stiffened prior to birth far more than the average body. It looked worse than it was, she'd said. While she couldn't walk, she could move around and she maintained full sensation. It certainly wasn't a spinal cord injury. That much came as a relief to Sam.

"He doesn't like me," she whispered to Sam as he navigated the stairs.

"I wouldn't say that. He's just not very good with human social stuff. And he's got a lot on his mind right now." That was an understatement to say the least.

"You sure this is okay?" she whispered back.

Castiel, trailing behind them with her floral duffle bag over his shoulder and wheelchair parts in his hands, piped up. "I trust that Sam would not bring guests to the bunker without good reason. Your life must surely be in danger."

"See?" Sam muttered, amused. "He's not exactly subtle."

The bunker seemed a lot dustier than he noticed before, though having women around always seemed to bring out that kind of thing. He took Amy into the residence quarters were all the Men of Letters roomed in the 30s, 40s, and 50s. She admired the art deco style but said nothing about it. Only his room resembled something a bit more modern with a flatscreen TV balanced on a sixty-year-old dresser and his laptop open on an equally old desk.

"It doesn't really look homey," she commented without malice.

"I never really had a home," he replied as he settled her in bed. "Just an endless series of places to sleep."

"Well, if this is your legacy, you oughta make it your own."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, my brother did that. He took over the kitchen and a room down the hall. Calls it  _nesting_."

"Sure he's not pregnant?" she replied, smirking.

"That'd explain the moodiness lately," Sam chuckled. "Comfortable?"

"Yeah, it's great. I feel like there's still anesthesia in my system." A yawn widened her mouth, bringing to mind the image of a kitten.

Sam diverted his attention, surprised by the warm sensation in the pit of his stomach. He busied himself with shifting his clothes from one dresser drawer to another to make room for her few belongings. Some of her stuff looked a bit strange--a couple of modernized Forrest Gump braces being the most conspicuous. Still, she had plenty of other things that reminded him that she was a regular woman. A floral skirt. A white lace tank top. A pink striped makeup bag. More items of the mundane than the medical, it seemed, and unpacking those things put him at ease.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to stay here. I'm gonna end up falling asleep any second now," she said kindly. "Just get my phone out of the side pocket there and leave it by my pillow. I'll call you when I wake up. Okay?"

"You ... you can use a phone?" Shit, that sounded ignorant.

Amy laughed as if she'd heard stupid men say stupid things like that a thousand times. She rolled on her side and watched him through those drowsy, laughing eyes, especially as he fought the urge to rush to her aid. He hadn't seen her roll over yet and, frankly, thought she was virtually dependent on everyone. Yet she moved easily, leaning up on her left side where he could see the imprint of surgical bandages over her right hip through the gown.

"Uh... should you be doing that?" he asked.

"Sac up, Sam. I'm good. I use phones, I write, I paint, I use laptops, I use public transportation." Her voice dropped to a sly, sarcastic whisper. "I even flirt, kiss, and _gasp_ , have sex!"

"All right, all right, I got it," he laughed as he brought her phone to the charger plug in his nightstand. "Interesting case."

"It's a moonflower. I just got a plain white case and painted my own picture on it," she explained.

"Wow, great work. Okay, here's my number. Programmed it in there. Sleep as long as you want. I'm gonna grab some groceries and ... I dunno ... figure out how to cook or something." He laughed at himself, feeling completely moronic, and patted her knee. "Sweet dreams. Call if you need something."

Sam left her in the quiet of his room and shut the door behind him.

At the other end of the hall, he spotted Dean and Castiel blocking the path to the stairwell. It amused him, seeing the gruesome twosome standing there shoulder to shoulder like parents waiting to ambush a kid in trouble.

"You guys look like the twins in  _The Shining_ ," he said as he approached.

Dean, of course, brooded and groused at everything he encountered. "What are you doing bringing her here, man?"

"She's in trouble. A demon stole her soul in the hospital and then tried to steal it again after I put it back," Sam explained, crossing his arms. "You know, Abaddon's mining souls to build an army. She's been doing it for a while. Then again, you haven't exactly been around to know that."

Dean glanced at Castiel in a silent communication. To Sam, he spoke again. "Uh-huh. Why's Cas telling me she's not human?"

"Because she's not, at least partially," replied Sam defensively. "So?"

"So? You brought a monster into the bunker?" Dean growled.

Stunned, Sam felt his temper rising out of control. The back of his neck burned red. "Monster? Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"Sammy, you know this shit never works! Never get attached to cases! First rule of hunting and you know it! We don't mix with them! It's black and white! Anything that's not us ends up dead!" Blood rushed to the surface of Dean's face, not that it was an unusual sight those days.

"Oh, yeah? Like you killed that human guy a few weeks ago? Thinman ring any bells? I saw you, Dean. You look like you  _enjoyed_ it," Sam argued evenly. "Don't stand there and lecture  _me_ about black and white and what it means to be a hunter. This woman needs protection and we're gonna make sure the demons leave her alone!" _  
_

Dean's face soured and he threw his hands in the air. "Oh, Jesus fuck, you're already attached to a chick you've known for five minutes!"

"Not all of us fuck 'em and dump 'em in five minutes like you do!" Sam blurted with a rough ferocity that shocked even himself. He felt his body posture defensively, lunging forward at his brother.

"Hey, fuck you!" boomed Dean through twisted features and rage.

"Face it, Dean! You can't stand it that I'm still capable of friendships outside of our fucked up family while you're not!"

The Winchester brothers nearly came to blows but Castiel leaped between them with arms stretched wide. One hand planted on Dean's chest, holding him back, and the other planted on Sam/s chest, holding him back too. The angel's blue eyes peered into Sam's core in a silent plea to go easy on Dean. He looked to Dean then, who stilled as if a spell fell over him through that gaze. The older brother anchored himself to Castiel--Sam watched it happen--and a wall crumbled, allowing raw nerves and anguish to emerge. Castiel's thumb subtly caressed Dean's collarbone and one nod to the other communicated something private.

The hardness returned as Dean's eyes shifted to Sam's face again. "She has to go. Find a place. This isn't the right home for her," he said in a much more even tone. "We've got work to do, Sammy."

"Fine," Sam relented, though not kindly.

With a final glance at Castiel, he disappeared downstairs.

"Sam, please, be kinder to your brother," advised Castiel after a moment. "Everything he's done has been because he loves you. I think he knows he's in over his head with the mark but he won't admit it. The mark--it's changing him. He doesn't like what it's doing to him, Sam, and he can't control his urges." Castiel's shoulders lifted and sloped with an oddly weary sigh for a celestial being.

"Well, he wouldn't be in this position if he didn't live in such terror of being alone that he'd let another angel possess me instead of letting me go in peace," Sam argued, not that he didn't feel for his brother. He still lived with such hurt that he needed to hurt back. "His stupid mistakes are things he did to himself."

"He does stupid things, yes," Castiel agreed somewhat haltingly, frustrated maybe with himself for being caught in the middle. "I ... I'm going to care for your charge."

"Amy? You?" His brows furrowed.

"Yes. It's better if I watch over her. I'm not prone to the same attachment that you are," the angel said in his typical blunt manner.

Sam wanted to laugh but he swallowed it back. "What do you know about taking care of someone after surgery?"

"In my last time of duty among humanity, my vessel was an army nurse in your Civil War," said Castiel without even blinking at such a strange revelation. "He was very dedicated. I absorbed his knowledge the same way I absorbed Jimmy Novak's knowledge before he went on to Heaven."

Civil War nurse. Jesus Christ. Images of Castiel making Amy bite down on bullets while he changed her bandages brought out sputtering, flabbergasted laughter. He couldn't believe his life sometimes.

"Fine," Sam relented. He knew Castiel couldn't be dissuaded once he made up his mind. "You can  _help_ but I'm not gonna just ignore her. And before you even go in there when she wakes up, you and I are having a conversation about exactly what she is. The demon referred to both of us as being part of the same kind. You know what that means, don't you, Cas?"

"I do," he admitted, though he evaded direct eye contact.

"Okay, come on then."

"Where are we going?"

"The grocery store," Sam said. "We're not feeding her canned beans while she's here, and you're gonna tell me everything in the car. Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam dropped the apple juice jug and a hole ripped into the plastic, splattering amber liquid across the grocery store aisle. The accident barely registered. Only Castiel's words bounced around his skull, robbing him of his ability to control his hands.

"Excuse me? You wanna run that by me again, Cas?"

The angel repeated the term in his overly monotone way. "Transfigured souls. The woman is one and so are you." He crouched and touched the split juice jug, repairing it under his angelic fingertips. Rising again, he placed the jug in Sam's hand. "There are eighteen in the current generation. Three in North America, three in South America, three in Africa, three in Europe, three in Australia, and three in Asia. The new generation of eighteen is living as well, but they haven't come into their power and influence yet."

"Wait, there were two jars stashed away in that closet...."

"That's right. You released the other North American transfigured soul back to its rightful life," Castiel said. "You did the universe a great service and severely handicapped Abaddon's cause without even realizing it. It was simply your inherent goodness that made you free all of those souls."

"I dunno about that, but wait. Step back. What  _is_ a transfigured soul?" Sam pushed the cart along once he noticed people getting a little too close and might overhear them.

"The only ones allowed to reincarnate," said Castiel rather effortlessly.

That made Sam laugh. A lot. "You're kidding, right?"

"This is not a humorous situation, Sam," he replied, the sarcasm sailing right over his head. "It began near the beginning of recorded time. When man began the process of civilization, God chose eighteen souls to reincarnate for five hundred years. See, God knew angels were too out of touch with what it meant to be human and so those souls were placed in positions to help their own kind advance. Each life cycle is meant to aid their fellow man, to learn and teach, to protect, and then they stop reincarnating after the fifth life--once every century. That's all a human soul can tolerate."

Sam honestly tried to absorb the information but he couldn't comprehend living that long, nor could he comprehend being chosen by God to help his fellow man. "What happens after time's up?"

"You stop reincarnating. You become what's known in Heaven as an ascended master," replied Castiel. Momentarily distracted, the angel plucked a bag of brightly colored gummy bears from a candy shelf and glanced at Sam before dropping it in the shopping cart. "For Dean."

"Right," Sam mumbled with a suspicious eye. He wanted to ask about the _look_ that passed between them earlier but there were more important things to discuss. Obviously. "What's an ascended master? So far I'm not hearing anything remotely resembling the claim that Amy and I aren't human, Cas. Explain it like I'm five."

The angel grabbed a bag of Kit-Kats before they turned out of the candy and baking aisle. Sam had plans to attempt a box of chocolate brownies. Women liked that kind of thing.

"Making the journey from life to death to life to death that many times alters the human soul," Castiel explained, though Sam observed his struggle to find the right words. "Repeated exposure to celestial energy allows souls, once they're born again, to access unused parts of the human brain. Tell me, Sam, has your new companion exhibited any of the psychic abilities you once possessed?"

"Um...." He didn't know if he should divulge that information.

"Telepathy? Telekinesis? Precognitive visions? Empathy?"

Sam peered at him from the corner of his eye and considered running for the produce section. He said nothing to confirm or deny, mainly because it sounded like a laundry list of what once made him a freak.

"I thought so," said Castiel in a quieter tone, casually walking alongside Sam. "It's just as likely that she's got the ability of psychometry too. The point is the human soul is only built for one trip around the sun, as you might say. Those chosen for the transfigured souls are just that--slowly  _transfigured_ into something more celestial to handle the responsibility of caring for the needs of mankind. At this point, you're both more celestial than human. You'll be as highly risen as humans can go by the end. And ascended masters are what you humans sometimes call spirit guides or guardian angels. But, of course, you're not angels."

"But we're not humans." Sam had stopped pushing the cart altogether by then. He faced Castiel directly. Struggling to understand, yes, but somehow it resonated and made sense.

"Every transfigured soul agrees to it," said Castiel. "It's a great honor."

"Agrees to it? I never agreed to shit. Amy doesn't even know what we are. She couldn't have agreed either." Sam's head tipped and a hot flush of aggression burst through his body. He grabbed the cart handle in a tight fist.

"You agreed, Sam. Your point of origin was not 1983. It was 1483, and you agreed before you were ever born to your first life." He paused a moment and let it sink in Sam's mind. "You're in the midst of your fifth and final incarnation. The first and last always life cycles begin in the same year of the respective century. It is, by far, the biggest and most challenging life in your existence, but you've done so much good for your fellow man. We nearly lost you once to Hell's control, but you were stronger than the darkness and you stayed true to the goodness in your heart." He pushed back when Sam scoffed. "It's true, Sam. I've broken a sacred law by telling you the truth now, but I believe you deserve to know, as does the woman. You're both on your way to everlasting paradise once the sun on this life sets."

"You sound like a Victorian novel, Cas," he quipped.

The angel's eyes turned down as if sinking back to reality. "My apologies. My thoughts are Enochian, which is, by its very nature, a rather flowery language."

Sam stared at him for a long time--he didn't know how long--but people there in the produce section probably took them for lovers. Eventually he sighed and rubbed his eyes, realizing just how deeply it resonated. Things stirred in his brain--no, not his brain--deeper. The same sensation flitted around his chest the way it did when he released those imprisoned souls into the night. His soul stirred with truth.

"Now that I've told you, Sam, you must also know the truth has a way of dislodging memories from your previous incarnations," Castiel offered with some regret. "One life cycle is enough for people to endure. Remembering more than one can be dangerous, which is why identities of the transfigured souls are kept secret, from themselves most of all."

Sam nodded. Great. He was the only one who knew, he figured, and it sounded like he could remember five hundred years of crap and human suffering at any second.

"If you choose to tell the woman the truth, I'll be there to help you," he offered in a gentle, sincere tone.

"Her name's Amy."

"Amy, yes."

"You're not gonna tell her?"

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck and gave an awkward shrug. "I learned a lot as a human, Sam, and the biggest thing I learned is difficult news should come from someone with whom you're bonded. There's a certain--" his face twisted like feeling his way through a foreign language, "-- _comfort_ in hearing disquieting news when you aren't worried about a stranger seeing your  _emotional reaction_."

"Shit, Cas, how am I gonna tell her this?" Sam retorted.

"You already know how to talk to her, how to work with her. You're of the same generation. You'll judge the right moment."

"Have I known her before?" he blurted.

The misgiving and reluctance on Castiel's face told him all he needed to know about it. He nodded, short and abrupt, and shoved his cart deeper into the fruit and vegetables. It all weighed him down and he actually felt his shoulders drooping down even more.

"I don't know anything specific," Castiel offered, jogging and catching up to Sam, "but I know the angel who kept those records."

"Can you ask?" Sam wasn't even sure he wanted to know but he asked just the same as he squeezed apples. "I mean, don't do it if it'll give away your whereabouts."

"I can do it," Castiel said.

"Ask about the early twentieth century. I wanna know why I keep thinking about how much she looks like Vivien Leigh." Jesus Christ. Sam couldn't believe he was even saying it out loud. His body went into autopilot, tying off a plastic bag of apples and then going for the plum bin.

The angel's head tilted. "Who's that?"

"...An actress, Cas." Sometimes Sam forgot just how naive Castiel was about human culture. " _Gone With the Wind_? _That Hamilton Woman_?"

He might as well have launched into a dissertation about video games for as much as Castiel understood those movie titles. Sam chuckled to himself as he selected four semi-ripe plums. At least there was that. He could still have a giggle for the moment, but he still had no idea how or if he would tell Amy what they were. But the thing of it was, she certainly thought of herself as a freak just like he did when he still had those psychic abilities.

"Wait, Cas?"

"Yes?" Pineapples caught his attention.

"Does Dean know?"

Castiel shook his head. "He shouldn't know if it can be helped." It sounded simple enough but wrinkles in his countenance suggested he hid something.

Facing him, Sam's eyes hardened. "Why?"

Hesitation answered him. "I shouldn't--"

"--Cas, we don't have time for this."

"The ... the last generation of transfigured souls will ascend this century," he said, hedging the question with careful words.

"...And?" A sinking feeling dropped his stomach.

"A new generation is rising. Dean is one of them," Castiel admitted. "You may be his younger brother at the moment but you're significantly older, the real teacher here. He's altogether human this time, but the next time, or the time after that, he'll become more of the celestial being that you and Amy are."

"Shit," mumbled Sam. He grabbed the edge of the fruit bin and bent at the waist, actually fearful that he might puke. "You're really not fucking with me?"

"No, I'm not _fucking_ with you, Sam. I shouldn't tell you these things, truthfully, and  _you can't tell your brother_! Not while he's under the influence of the mark. Do you see now why it's imperative to rid him of it immediately? A transfigured soul won by Hell is like an atomic bomb waiting to level Hiroshima." Castiel draped a hand over Sam's shoulder as he tried breathing deeply to steady himself. "You saved two of your own kind. Now I'm going to save Dean."

*****

No one saw much of Dean for the following two days. It was probably better that way. As long as Castiel kept an eye on him, Sam left it alone. He had enough on his plate with trying to swallow the knowledge down about slowly losing his humanity to joining the celestial over the course of five hundred years.

And his back really hurt from sleeping on the floor while Amy occupied his bed.

The weirdest thing of all was how  _well_ Castiel took care of her. Not having a true gender made it easy for him to assist her in changing clothes, bathing, and any number of things Sam wasn't privy to witnessing. Maybe it was better having Castiel around to help. It allowed Sam to have a relationship with her that didn't involve the awkwardness of seeing her naked. He suspected she loathed anyone seeing her in a clinical light except those specifically assigned to perform the function. Amy survived by compartmentalizing her life.

So Sam struggled through learning to better cook for everyone, though Dean didn't eat much. He nibbled. His obsession with finding Abaddon was stronger than Castiel's obsession with finding Metatron. They often spoke in hushed tones and pointed at maps together. If Castiel wasn't there, he'd be hounding Sam whether the woman was there or not. The Mark of Cain narrowed his scope of the universe to that of black and white, blood and flesh, night and day.

No matter how Sam tried to push the five-hundred-year-old black hole away, it clawed its way out of his mind. Sometimes Amy arched her brow playfully at him, sitting there in her wheelchair at the stainless steel kitchen table while he cooked, and it knocked the life out of him.

"Cas?" he whispered over the kitchen sink. "Hear anything yet?"

"No. I'll just step outside and call again," whispered Castiel in return.

As the angel took the iPhone out of his pocket and left the kitchen, Amy's eyes tracked him with the stoic expression she adopted toward most things she encountered. Rarely did her emotions bleed through her features. Self-protection, Sam guessed. He ripped a paper towel off the roll and chose the least crunchy brownie square for her. Sliding into a chair at the table, he broke off a bite and popped it into her mouth.

"You trying to fatten me up for some Hansel and Gretel thing here?" she asked with a cheeky smirk.

"I can never eat enough after being in the hospital," he replied.

"Oh, you too?"

"A few times." Though he said it, he chose not to elaborate.

"Huh," she replied thoughtfully. "So how is it having an invalid in your fortress of solitude?"

Sam shrugged and decided to be honest. "Not as hard as I expected."

"Yeah but Cas is doing the work," she pointed out.

"Hey, I braid hair like a champ! I could open a hair salon."

Laughing, faint wrinkles fanned out from Amy's eyes. "All right, all right, I'll give you that."

She did it again. Her cheeks plumped up and her eyes closed with pleasant feminine laughter until Sam felt pressure somewhere around the back of his head. A hand raked through his hair and he hoped he made his discomfort appear casual but it felt like his brain might explode through the dam of his skull.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked randomly.

"Eh," she shrugged with indifference, "I'm sore but I'm four days out from surgery. I should be trying to sit up like this by now. Gotta work on my hip so the new space shuttle parts in there get acclimated. Same old song and dance."

Sam nodded. As her expression shifted away from that familiar bout of laughter, the pressure in his skull faded. It happened a handful of times and although he suspected it was the universe trying to hold back the memories, they pushed and fought right back. It was only a matter of time. Perhaps Castiel's desire to keep them from getting too close had something to do with that. He  _would_ try to protect both of them that way.

"You okay, Sam?" Suddenly her faded eyes, like lake water, intently stared through him.

"I'm good," he replied with another bite of brownie popped into her mouth.

*****

Sam decided Amy needed to get out for some fresh air a full week after her surgery since her need for painkillers tapered off into simple ibuprofen. When he asked her what she wanted to do and she asked if there was a farmer's market in the area, delight stunned him into a silent, dumb smile for a moment. He wondered if she'd been reading his mind. She could do that, after all.

So he wandered down the hall to the room Castiel had been using, not that he ever slept, but he seemed to enjoy the ritual of retiring along with the others. However, Sam found the room empty. He turned on his heels and nearly headed down to the library until he noticed Dean's door cracked about a foot.

"Hey, Dean?" Poking his head in the room, he found both of them in bed together with the blankets drawn to their waists. "Oh, hey Cas." They sat against the headboard with a newspaper open between them like any other couple on a lazy Sunday.

"Good morning, Sam," the angel replied.

Sam worked hard at not appearing shocked. The last thing he wanted was to scare Dean off from the one thing in the universe that kept him grounded. Dean eyed his brother and self-consciously rubbed his mouth, the arm folded and hid the Mark of Cain. No, Sam wasn't shocked that it happened, them being  _together_ , but he was shocked that it happened while Dean was such a personal disaster. Maybe it had been going on for a while right under Sam's nose, not that it was really any of his business.

"Sammy?" said Dean, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, um...." Oh hell. He'd been staring like an idiot. "I gotta borrow Cas for a minute. Amy's ready to have her bath and stuff. We're going to the farmer's market down south on the highway today."

Castiel nodded. "I'm coming."

"You find a home for her yet?" asked Dean without any semblance of emotional attachment. He might as well have asked about a stray puppy.

Sam tried not to take it personally. "I have a couple of places to check out next week." It was partially true. His extensive five minute internet search turned up a few group homes in the area but he wasn't in a big hurry to pack her off to one of them. "So ... Cas?"

"Yes, I'll be there in a moment."

"Thanks."

With that, Sam escaped as quick as he could back to his room. Castiel's reluctance to  _go with him_ let his mind run with thoughts of nudity below those bed blankets. His body shook off those images once in the safety of his room again like shaking off rainwater. Seeing Dean in bed with  _anyone_ was worthy of cringing. He'd walked in on his brother with women before and it grossed him out just the same way. Brothers were  _not_ supposed to think about each other's sex lives let alone witness evidence of it.

"What's with you?" Amy laid on her stomach diagonally across his bed. Since her hands weren't strong enough to function, she scrolled through her iPhone with her chin.

"Just found Dean and Cas. Together." Oh God, there came the images of naked flesh again.

She looked up from her phone. "Like...  _together_ together?"

"Yeah, in bed." He stretched across the bed on his stomach beside her.

"Woah. Were they, you know...?"

"No, but I think they have been...."

Amy shrugged and went back to scrolling through her phone. "I'm sure they've been together for a while. Cas seems like the only one who can communicate with your brother. I think they need each other, not that I've known you guys very long, but it seems like Dean is the peanut butter to his jelly."

"They should be together," Sam confided with a nod. "I could just live without seeing them in bed together. The tension has been there for years though. It's really annoying sometimes."

"Maybe your brother has a bigger reason to fight the dark yuck in him now," she pointed out optimistically.

Chuckling, Sam nudged her shoulder with his body. "I love how you call the Mark of Cain the 'dark yuck'."

"I don't like to give ugly words too much power." Her eyes turned up to his face and she offered a soft, knowing smile. "People never bully me, even when I was a kid, because I really just don't give a damn. Ugly words become powerful if you say them too much."

Before Sam had a moment to consider that, Castiel tapped the bedroom door and stuck in his head. "Good morning," he greeted. "I have the bathwater running."

"Hey, Cas! How was  _your_ night?" Amy replied exuberantly.

Sam slapped his hand over his eyes and shook his head.

*****

Stray, fluffy clouds floated in the bright spring sky like cotton balls, which seemed to make everyone in three counties flood the same farmer's market. Amy rolled along the paved path with her hand pressed to the wheelchair's joystick. He tried not to "hover" as she called it but he wasn't used to her taking off wherever she pleased either.

"This is like a swap meet too," she commented. "Look at the flea market junk tables out there."

"Some of them sell art and jewelry and stuff. This place is better for produce and plants," Sam replied.

She chuckled as a child darted by, chasing a loose bird. "And chickens."

"Yeah, there are some farm animals."

" _Ohh_ , look!" Amy took off for a large tent of brightly colored flower baskets down on the corner of the next curve. "C'mon! You're supposed to be quicker on your feet!"

Sam laughed. He couldn't stop himself. It was strange being around someone who still knew how to appreciate things like flowers in a universe of blood, muck, and ugliness. Her face tipped up and her lively eyes took in all the colors and varieties of plants dripping and spiraling from hung baskets. When he caught up to her, she'd already begun charming the vendor and making friends. How did she do that? It appeared like five hundred years of life hadn't made her tired at all, whereas he kind of wanted to lie down and sleep for a decade.

"C'mere, Sam. You ever seen a moonflower?"

"A what?"

Amy's eyes turned up and to the left, directing him at a basket suspended from a tent crossbar. "That one. It's kind of a vine more than a basket flower but it survives this way too."

"It's barely sprouting." He reached up and unhooked the basket, giving her a lower vantage.

"It'll grow," she replied. "Moonflowers are special. They bloom at night and put off a strong fragrance. I like them best. Even though they're still vining flowers like any other vining flowers, they're beautiful and come out when  _they_ want to come out, not when they're  _supposed_ to." Giving him a faint smile, she tore herself away from the sprouts. "They need good sunlight and something to grab onto. Something like this would never survive where you live." It amused her, apparently.

"You know a lot about gardening," he replied.

Shrugging, Amy let it roll in nonchalance. "My granny was good at it." The explanation sounded like an old witch as she continued. "Moonflowers look like glowing full moons when they open up, so people tend to associate them with intuition and mysticism."

Sometimes he saw shades of Dean in her the way she displayed knowledge of things she learned from her family but then brushed them off in the next breath. Abandonment dented and battered people who knew what it was like to once have a family. Sam found it fascinating, mainly because his family was shattered before his first birthday.

Just like that, Amy's attention diverted elsewhere. "You smell that? Food trucks. They've got food trucks here?"

"A few," Sam chuckled.

She shot him a bit of a wounded look. "What's funny?"

"You," he replied as he hung the flower basket again and thanked the vendor. "You're more lively than you have been since we met."

Pink bloomed from her cheeks up to her brow. She took off again, slower that time, maybe for his sake. "Sorry. The group home was overcrowded and underfunded. We didn't get too many outings. I guess I'm sort of starved for non-medical human interaction."

Ironic choice of phrase for a pair of celestial beings wandering around a crowded farmer's market. He wondered if he'd ever be able to tell her or if he'd resign himself to living with the knowledge alone. Maybe it was a burden he had to bear on his own like so many others--for who knew  _how_ long. For now, at least, he intended to let her enjoy herself until she wore out and had her fill.

They bought nachos and funnel cake. No, it wasn't the healthiest meal, but he guessed the group home back in St. Louis fed her the same thing as what people were fed in hospitals.

She pulled up to the end of a picnic table and he tossed a leg, straddling the bench to feed both of them at the same time. Sometimes, especially in the last few days, he forgot what he was doing the same way the body went into autopilot with any other normal task. Feeding her became rather routine, not that he commented on it out loud.

"Oh my God, this is good." Amy sounded like she was having an affair with her nachos.

It made Sam smile. Again. That felt foreign. "Since it's quieter here, I wanted to talk about some stuff."

"Such as?"

It could have gone two ways at that point. Sam could have told her everything about transfigured souls, which he seriously considered not a minute after deciding against it, or he could bring up more practical things that needed attention too.

"Thing is, you gotta change your identity." Okay, so he took the coward's way out and went practical.

"My whole identity? I don't even know how to do that," she replied.

"Well, that's where I come in. I learned that stuff before I ever hit high school age. It's not hard to do," he said, popping a cheesy chip into his mouth. "We can't find a new home for you under your real name because I'm betting the authorities in St. Louis are looking for you. We should probably think about changing your hair color too."

"Another group home," she theorized in a meeker tone.

Sam nodded with a twinge of reluctance. "I wanna keep you around here though, if you wanna stay. You're cool and I like you. I don't wanna say goodbye or anything like that. It's just that I can't do my job and leave you alone in the bunker for days at a time. It's just not safe to expose you to this stuff too much."

Unequivocal, raw sadness streaked through her eyes and they seemed to drain of what little green illuminated them. It was like washing away a watercolor painting. But then, her body shifted in her wheelchair. She averted her gaze to the people passing by the paved walkway behind him. Her lips pursed into a thin line as she swallowed away whatever awful, lonely images his decision gave her.

Sam considered attempting to back peddle and lighten the mood somehow because he couldn't stand seeing the pain he inflicted. Before he could, Amy's eyes found his face again with renewed color and strength as if she'd pulled from the reservoir of internal fortitude that kept her alive. She changed. She adapted right before his eyes. The next challenge came along, it seemed, and she devoured it whole. He just didn't like it that her life had to be one challenge after another for her.

"Any name?" she asked.

Sam didn't know whether he was allowed to smile or not. He couldn't read whether she harbored anger toward him.

Her head tipped forward just slightly. "Sam, snap out of it. You hold onto a stupid amount of guilt. You feel like a boulder sleeping on the floor at the end of the bed every night. Trust me--don't sweat the small stuff like where people live. Nobody has to live together to have a good friendship. It's cool. I knew I wasn't gonna stay in the bunker forever anyway. Not with the honeymoon suite down the hall." She smirked at her own joke.

A breath puffed out of Sam's mouth that he didn't know he'd been holding.

"But if you don't come take me out whenever you're home, I'm gonna turn your room into _Poltergeist_." Amy's brow arched in that lightning bolt familiarity again. "Don't think I can't do that. I've been practicing the mind mojo. Yesterday I threw a pillow across the room. It was awesome."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that." Laughing, Sam knew she was serious even if it sounded like teasing. She wasn't the sort of person to be ignored or left behind. "And I'm not gonna pack you off to a place that isn't gonna treat you right. I promise."

Shrugging, Amy's levity was tempered by a haunted look. "Anything's better than the last place. Even a stinky old bunker with an angel and a guy with a dark yucky mark on his arm. As long as none of the nurses are demons like the one at the hospital, everything will be paradise. I'm really not hard to please."

That turned Sam into a contemplative mood. "I think there's a difference between being easy to please and being pleasing to everyone else."

"Maybe so."

The urge to give her everything she ever wanted swelled in his chest. It took him by surprise, sitting there with her eyes on his features. His own eyes darted to the bow of her lips and a strange electric sensation build in his chest. Familiarity. Pressure stalked him around the back of the skull once again and he just knew he was going to start remembering something at any second if she kept looking at him that way.

"Ever wonder why things are so easy with some people and so hard with others?" Amy murmured softly.

"How do you mean?" But he knew.

"We didn't know each other two weeks ago or even ten days ago, but here we are talking about my future here in Kansas like it's no big deal. Like this is totally natural for us." She thought about it more, staring him so thoroughly in the eye. "We just fell into step in that stupid hospital room. Don't you ever wonder how that happens? How people can feel so completely at ease with someone they just met but so horrible and worthless around people they knew their whole lives?"

Everything she said echoed around Sam's brain like a pinball machine. The quickening thump of his pulse hammered away at the flesh around his inner wrist. That was the right moment to tell her the truth and he had to go through with it without Castiel's backup.

"Amy, if I knew something big about you, would you want to know?" His mouth went dry.

"What are you talking about?"

Sam dove in with both feet. There really wasn't another way to do it. "You're not the only one here with extra-sensory abilities. I had them for a long time too. There's a reason why. A big reason. I mean, throw your whole belief system upside down kind of big."

She looked uncertain but bravely foraged ahead. "Go on."

And there in the farmer's market, off in a quiet corner at a picnic table, Sam confessed everything Castiel had told him. He outlined the peculiar facts as Amy gave him full, unbiased attention. She was great that way, he'd been learning, great at listening and understanding, maybe because she'd been ignored and misjudged her entire life. The news frightened her, of course. There was no way a revelation like that could be taken lightly. But Amy bore it as bravely as she bore everything else, deciding immediately that Sam was destined to meet her. No other explanation fit, she said. Seven billion people in the world and two transfigured souls of the same generation met--certainly not by chance.

Strangest of all, Sam believed her. He clung to her faith because he didn't know if his would be enough. And she offered her faith like a life raft. They seemed to blend into each other that way.

*****

As the sun went down, Sam brought an exhausted Amy back to the bunker. She carried the truth as brave as anyone could under the circumstances but her body demanded a rest after the first real outing since her surgery. Sam put her to bed with orders to nap until dinner. Not that he informed her of it, but he intended to bring dinner up to her that night rather than bring her to the table. It was better that way for a variety of reasons. Keeping the secret from Dean required immense willpower and internal reminders that Castiel knew what was best for him.

Right on cue, Castiel met Sam at the bottom of the curved iron stairwell. He'd gone to the car to grab the bag of jewelry Amy bought in the flea market half of the farmer's market. She seemed to have a thing for moon everything. Excitement over a teardrop shaped moonstone set in gold became irresistible and he bought it for her with earrings to match.

"Sam," greeted the angel with a nod. "How is Amy?"

"Taking a nap. It was a good day," he replied.

"Good. Dean's doing the same. I'm afraid he hasn't slept in four days but he seems to be resting now."

That stopped Sam dead in his tracks. " _Four days_?!"

Castiel nodded. "The mark.... It gains power over him daily."

"What's happening to him, Cas?" Part of Sam guessed the reason for Dean's steady decline into not sleeping or eating but he couldn't admit it out loud.

"I don't know for certain." It seemed Castiel couldn't admit it to himself either. "The worst of it all is I don't know what to do except remain at his side and ignore my own cause. Angels are destroying themselves all over the world because of Metatron and I can't do anything with the bounty on my head. I can't stay but I can't leave either."

"Yeah, you can leave. I've got a couple of homes to look at for Amy. She knows everything now and as soon as I get her moved, I'll go work with Dean so you can go," Sam promised.

"I thought you didn't want to be around him."

"Look, my personal stuff with my brother's not the same as what's going on out there. Nobody's gonna be safe until Metatron and Abaddon are dead. I got it, Cas. I can separate my crap with him and just work the jobs like partners, but we're not square by any stretch of the imagination."

"I understand." Nodding, the angel observed him through empathetic eyes. "Things will be okay, Sam. You and your brother have come too far together. You'll find a way to rebuild things."

Uncomfortable and filled by the confusion of both hating and loving Dean, he dropped his eyes to the new jewelry in the plastic bag. He hadn't even begun to think about rebuilding their relationship after such stunning betrayals of trust. Seeing that far ahead just wasn't in his power at that moment. Just the fact that he had priorities outside of Dean told him they were light years apart. Dean felt perfectly justified in going on the way they always did--both sacrificing everything for each other and that deluded concept of  _family_ \--while Sam had escaped long enough to understand himself as an individual. The only thing that would save them at that point was Dean accepting the truth that Sam was his own man who didn't need his big brother every second of the day.

"You told Amy the truth, didn't you?" asked Castiel, breaking his thoughts.

Sam glanced up again and nodded.

"Good." The angel didn't appear to even need to ask how she took it. He simply gave a sharp nod with his sharp approval. "I have names for you."

"What? About the twentieth century?" Sam's skin pricked along the back of his neck and his spine straightened.

Castiel pulled aside his newer, shorter tan jacket and stuck his hand in his slacks pocket. A slip of paper got pressed into the palm of Sam's hand with a solid grip holding his attention. "I don't know if it's what you're looking for but should you choose to track down these names, you must prepare yourself for terrible revelations. Transfigured souls lead much harder lives than the average human. Looking for your past identities may unlock traumatizing memories. I advise you to think carefully before seeking this kind of information, and I advise this as your friend, Sam."

It made him nervous. He could admit it. Still, he nodded and took the slip of paper. Castiel retreated into the residence section of the bunker, leaving Sam alone with it.

With a couple of deep breaths, Sam opened his palm.

_Jack Perry. Los Angeles, CA--b. 1911, d. 1944.  
Mae Abbott. Maldon, Essex, England--b. 1913, d. 1944._


	4. Chapter 4

Finding a good group home was the easy part.

Facing the prospect of a cold bunker again without Amy there every day proved harder than Sam anticipated.

With a welcome folder jammed under his arm and a list ticking off in his mind for getting her new home ready, Sam descended the bunker's entrance stairwell. He found Amy's wheelchair at the end of the great table--the meeting place in the center of the bunker--and he still wasn't used to the new black silhouette of her head. Two days before, he sat bored stiff in a salon while they dyed her hair black and cut off six inches in an effort to disguise herself from any authorities looking for her. Sam hated to admit it but he missed the long, richly colored brown hair that he braided before she went to bed every night. It still hung over her shoulders, at least.

"Sammy, you got outvoted. We're all gonna head out to play pool and drink 'til our livers limp home tonight."

He hadn't even noticed Dean occupying a shadowy corner with his knee slung over the arm of a leather library chair. "Yeah, okay." It didn't really surprise him. Dean only showed any life when it came to drinking or being around Castiel anymore.

"Oh, you're back!" Amy smiled up at him as Castiel leaned over the table near her. "Everything square with the old folks home?"

"It's not an old folks home." Bending down, Sam grabbed the back of her chair and braced the other hand on the table. He lowered his voice and spoke through a light smirk. "You, ma'am. I thought you were taking it easy on your hip, which was why you wouldn't go with me to sign all the paperwork."

"I was resting but I got bored." She said it absently as if it was nothing of consequence. "Don't worry, sugar. Docs always want us up outta bed as quick as possible after they do the slice and dice."

The arch of her eyebrow seemed far sharper now that her hair was black. Sam looked away, threatened by remembering something he didn't want to know right there in front of Dean. In looking away, he noticed a rather elaborate candelabra placed on the center of the table with four unlit candles surrounding one taller candle sprouting up from the center.

"I'm teaching control," Castiel explained. "She must be able to defend herself. Her best weapon is her telekinetic ability."

"Watch," said Amy with a sly smile.

Even Dean peered over his car magazine to observe as Amy demonstrated the increasing strength in her abilities. She squinted at the candelabra and Castiel stood with his hands clasped behind his back like the mentor he'd become to her. Sam, still leaning in close, suddenly found himself enveloped in the radiant heat that smelled of her honeysuckle perfume. He realized he lingered close enough to feel her inner power firsthand, but before he had the chance to overanalyze it too much, wicks popped and sparked. One by one, the candles lit without being touched. Just when he thought she was done, the candelabra dragged across the table, pulled closer by the invisible cables in her mind. He jumped back, thinking he'd get hit by it but the entire thing stopped just a few inches from her face.

"Holy shit," he mumbled.

The sly smile turned to that of pride on Amy's pink lips. "As soon as I stopped fighting what I am, it all happened naturally. Cas showed me how to turn off hearing thoughts too, so I won't drive myself nuts when I don't want to hear it."

Sam had to admit that he felt better about her leaving if she could defend herself at least a little bit with those skills. His eyes passed over her toward Castiel, who stared back with a silent nod, the both of them communicating without a word. Gratitude filled him. Without Castiel, he would never have reached that understanding about himself and Amy.

*****

As much as Sam dreaded it, he alleviated that dread by making Amy's new home as comfortable as he could for her. The place he found was actually a refurbished mansion from the 1920s that was converted to a home for the disabled. He made sure she got the last single room so she wouldn't have to contend with a roommate. Plus she got an attached bathroom to herself and he spent three days painting and putting together new furniture. She liked Victorian things, so Victorian things were what she got.

It all depleted his savings but she would soon have state insurance under her new identity of Elizabeth Roland. Of course, she made jokes about being called Liz like Elizabeth Taylor and so Sam adopted that nickname in public as long as her eyes shined whenever he said it.

And it was calling her Liz just to see her smile that made him realize he was falling in love. That, and finding himself in an animal shelter the day before she moved to choose a furry companion to keep her company when he left for hunts. Jesus, he thought as he paid for the fluffy Himalayan kitten, what was he doing?

But she'd been right at the farmer's market. They were just natural together. So natural that he didn't even notice feeling that way until he was falling fast and falling hard.

"It doesn't look too bad," she said skeptically in the parking lot--which was really just a double wide driveway.

They headed toward the house together where a nurse awaited them on the porch.

"Give it a chance," Sam urged in a discreet tone. "I looked all over three counties for a place that didn't look like a hospital. I think you'll like what I did to your room."

Despite the homey feeling around the property, a nurse in scrubs and a pair of matching ramps splitting off the porch reminded them of the true purpose. He understood Amy's reluctance to go back to a group home setting after suffering so much in the last one, but he really thought she would like this one once she adjusted. He gave a supportive squeeze to her shoulder as they met the curly-haired nurse.

"Elizabeth. It's a pleasure to meet you," she greeted sweetly. "I'm Tina, the nurse for your floor. Welcome to Horizon House. Everyone's about to sit down to lunch but you have time to settle into your room first." She led them inside and Sam watched Amy take in the common rooms richly decorated like the 1920s with a modern twist. "This is a small facility with only ten beds. We believe in more individualized care and the smaller size here allows for a real sense of home."

"Only ten?" Amy's eyes passed over to Sam as they followed Tina the nurse. She smiled. She warmed to it slowly.

They took a discreet elevator tucked behind the stairwell. As they reached the third floor, it began sinking in for Sam that she wasn't coming back to the bunker with him. She was on her own in that room off to the right across the hall from the only other room on that floor. As much as Amy seemed to warm to the idea of an intimidate place to live like that, Sam still found himself secretly hoping she'd hate it so much that she'd have to come back to the bunker. But her eyes lit up the moment they took in all the work he'd put into her room. It looked no different than a normal bedroom that was large enough for a little sitting area tucked into a bay window. He knew she was going to be happy there and something in him began to hurt.

Amy darted into her attached bathroom as women usually did. "Uh, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"There's a litter box in here."

"Oh yeah. About that." A knowing smile passed between Sam and Tina the nurse because she had been the one to tell him that residents were allowed one small pet if they wanted. To the bathroom, he said, "Come back out here. You gotta meet someone."

"I'll just let you and Elizabeth have some time before we go over policies and things," Tina offered as Sam stooped to his hands and knees to coax the kitten out from under the bed.

Just as Amy reappeared in the bathroom doorway, Sam pulled out a chair from the little sitting area and pet the kitten clutched to his chest. She blinked, a slow smile of realization coming over her, and she rolled closer without saying a thing at first. The Himalayan kitten latched onto Sam's hand and playfully bit his knuckle. If he'd ever witnessed love at first sight in his life, that was the moment as Amy giggled, watching the kitten try to look tough against his fingers.

"I thought you could use some company," he said.

Her eyes flitted between his face and the kitten. "It's allowed?"

"Yeah, there's a lady downstairs with a Yorkie," he replied. "Smaller places seem to have more freedom."

"I don't even know what to say. This is just so great."

"Say you won't get lonely when I'm gone," replied Sam quietly. "I have to go with Dean for a while. We have to find the blade and kill Abaddon. And Cas is leaving too. I just ... I don't want you to--"

"--I'll be okay," she assured, turning sensitive and serious. "I never needed anyone before. My mom and dad are gone and I'm fine. It's not like you'll be gone forever. You'll be back."

For such a strong, capable, skilled hunter, Sam Winchester certainly shrank like a flower in a drought when his emotions veered off in an unexpected direction. He didn't like it but as she pulled in close and he plopped the kitten in her lap, the intimacy threatened to expose his stupid emotions. Getting attached to her might not have happened if Castiel hadn't told him how rare and celestial the pair of them were, and he suddenly wanted to punch the angel.

"You're conflicted," she surmised.

He averted his eyes and his mouth flattened into a pensive line. "Stop reading me."

"Stop being so obvious," she retorted.

Sam leaned back in his chair and heaved a sigh, his impossibly long legs framing the corner of hers as if he meant to cage her there. And then, just as quickly, he pitched forward again and leaned his forearm across the arm of her chair. Her face tilted and softened with empathy.

"Have you decided what to do with the names Cas gave you?"

"No," he admitted. "I carry that paper in my wallet. I don't know why."

"Because it's us." The simplicity of her response struck him in its clarity and truth. "Listen, I want you to know that I'm not gonna start digging around about Mae until you decide if you're gonna dig around about Jack or not. I'm following your lead here." She paused in thought, looking him over so close together, and then continued. "Being kinda human but kinda not doesn't bother me. Maybe it's because I've been so different my whole life, and now I have a  _cause_ for it. That gives me contentment. Maybe you need to find out who you were as Jack to feel some sense of relief. Maybe you need to see who you were in all of your lives. It's okay to have that need. I'd like to see you become content with what we are too because it's not so bad. We've been trying to save the world for centuries. Now your brother and his generation will carry on where we leave off."  


Sam tried to take it all in and understand just how she got to the root of his problem when he barely knew himself. He was too analytical. Reading, gathering information, sorting, and facts gave him that sense of contentment that she seemed to pick up on. The kitten swatted at his watch band, sucking his attention back to the tangible reality of that room.

"What are you gonna call him?" he asked, scratching the neck.

A subtle smile of understanding showed that Amy knew he diverted the subject on purpose. "Moon," she replied.

He chuckled. "What is it with you and the moon?"

"I dunno. I like nighttime much better than daylight. I'll probably end up calling him Mooney or something. He's so lively. I don't know how to thank you." The smile warmed into something affectionate. Then her eyes brightened in an instant. "Speaking of which, can I have my necklace back?"

"What?" He blinked dumbly.

"It's in your pocket."

He huffed and shook his head. " _Stop reading me_."

" _Stop being so obvious then_ ," she repeated through clenched teeth.

Reluctantly, Sam stood and fished out the moonstone pendant from his jeans pocket. He rounded the back of her chair, draped the chain around her neck, and fumbled with his enormous hands to clasp it securely beneath her heavy black-dyed hair. Whenever Castiel helped her with a bath, like that morning, Sam stashed her necklace in his pocket so she wouldn't lose it. That was the last morning such routines would be in his daily life though. His hands fell over her narrowed shoulders.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Sam managed to make the padded beige armchair near the bay window look flimsy as he sank into it again. Those long legs framed the corner of her chair once more, resuming that subconscious way of keeping her close.

"You don't have to stay here," he blurted.

She offered a half-smile and tilted her head. "Yeah, I do. This is getting a little too complicated for me. I've been here before and I know where it's going."

Silence fell between them. She thought of Dean and how long it took him to work past the fact that Castiel wasn't like him. They thought they were so clever in hiding the change in their relationship but Sam knew when his brother lied just to go find Castiel in Idaho. Then when he returned, Sam nearly felt the change like a tangible veil draped over the older brother. It took so long to happen. Sam wondered if it was really fair to put Amy through the ridiculous Winchester way of taking years to correctly identify an emotion. If it didn't happen now, it wouldn't happen at all.

It fell out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "You know, just because I'm in a wheelchair and I'm five-hundred-years-old doesn't mean I'm not a woman."

She was reading his mind. Shit.

Sam's eyes went wide. "I-I know that." His politically correct nature recoiled thinking he offended her.

"Do you?" Her voice never rose. It didn't have to. The words cut through the issue enough on their own. "This isn't just about us being two of eighteen celestials living on Earth right now. It's not about the demons itching to snatch my soul either. I know you care for me, Sam. Maybe you like knowing another freak because you used to have powers like mine. I dunno. But you care for me, yet sometimes you still look at me like you're gonna break me or you're waiting for this chair to reach out and bite you or something. You're not going to catch it if you get too close, okay? Don't tell me what a great girl I am and that I'm the best friend you ever had--blah, blah, blah. Broken record. If you care for me, then--"

Blackness clamped down over Sam's vision as he sprang forward, squishing the kitten between them. Faint honeysuckle perfume flooded his senses and creamy skin gave into his rough stubble. Only then did Sam realize he swallowed down the rest of her tirade with his kiss that overtook both of them so fast.

"Do you always have to argue with me?" he murmured.

Dazed, she shrugged a bit. "Arguing is your language."

*****

_Sam found himself walking. No. Jogging. His heart pounded and an explosion to the rear nearly threw him to the pavement. Sirens. Warnings. Blown out windows everywhere with shredded, billowing black curtains swaying in the breeze. Low, rumbling engines overhead like the annoying buzz of a killer horde of wasps._

_Few people remained on the street. A young couple shouted from the street corner, holding a building door open, but he couldn't take cover. Not when_ she _wasn't safe yet either._

_Leaping over rubble and hearing a sharp English tongue ricochet his brain to the truth of the situation._ Remember _, a voice told him._ Walk in your own shoes _. Another explosion rocked the building to his left, though his eyes remained fixed so sternly ahead that he didn't see the damage. He only felt the rumble and gush of wind as a whole corner of that building crumbled and collapsed behind him._

_No windows remained in her building ahead and fire licked the top floor where she'd been living for five months. Panic seized his heart as he thought of her trapped in smoke and blistering flames. Sam consciously endured it without knowing just how he knew she was in there. Just the same, he didn't know how he knew but the Nazis would torture her if they succeeded at invading London. Her mind was a lockbox of valuable information. The planes overhead and the bombs raining from the sky made him think they could do it. They could invade London._

_"Mae!" Sam heard himself scream up an apartment building stairwell. His voice sounded so different. "Mae! Answer me!" As he mounted the stairs two at a time, he felt so so much smaller. He doubted he even reached six feet._

_This wasn't Sam Winchester's body. It was Jack Perry, and yet they were so fluidly the same. He felt ownership of one just as much as the other, his soul filling both to the toes and fingertips like wearing clothes of the perfect fit. Consciousness existed, neither Sam nor Jack, yet wholly both and other lifetimes he hadn't yet uncovered._

_"Jack...." Her sweet voice sounded broken, muffled as he climbed over smoldering rubble to the top floor._

_Blazing fire raged across the hall from her flat. Rubble blocked her doorway but Sam tossed everything aside and climbed through a hole no bigger than his body, shouting for her the entire time. Bombs fell harder and faster over London outside. They were going to have to ride it out and pray the fire didn't spread into her flat. He knew they were more likely to be killed out there than trapped in a burning building._

_He coughed and covered his face behind the inner bend of his elbow. How easy it would have been to just run to a bomb shelter but the tether between Jack and Mae left it physically impossible to find safety without her at his side._

_"Where are you?"_

_There she lay, pinned under an armoire and the wreckage of her bedroom wall. She'd been ill and that illness kept her from going back to Los Angeles with him before it all got so damn dangerous. Viv and Larry remained in London nearby while she filmed_  Caesar and Cleopatra _and Jack had even tried convincing them to leave too_. _Part of Mae refused to leave Viv behind, darling friends that they were, especially now that Viv had miscarried._ _Reluctantly, Jack stayed for Mae. Actresses made for good spies and that was how she made herself useful to the war effort rather than making new films. Every Nazi loved a pretty British or American actress despite killing the soldiers those women supported._

_He crouched over Mae and the oddest thought crossed his mind. Was this how Carole looked at the end? Why did he have to watch it when Clark was spared of that gut-wrenching horror? So many of their friends paraded through his mind as he tenderly brushed back her hair, revealing a bloody gash across her temple. So many of them were already dead. It all came and went too fast. Jack found her in one of the restaurants he owned back in Los Angeles before the war and suddenly... there they were facing the end._

_"It's my fault, Jack. I ran just before the bomb hit," she murmured with apologetic tears in her eyes. "I didn't get further than my bedroom door here and I got knocked to the floor."_

_Rage. Yes, Jack burned with rage and used it to try and push the armoire off of her legs. It wouldn't budge and she cried out in agony._

_"Leave it!"_

_"Angel-face, we have to get you down to the hospital," he pleaded._

_Ashen and resigned, she shook her head, still speaking with her refined English lilt. "I can't feel my legs. This hunk of wood did me in, I'm afraid." He knew she felt something--unbearable pain--as she bit her lip. Tears squeezed out from the corners of her eyes and rolled into her pincurled hair. She gasped and jerked uncontrollably, then calmed again. "But I did my job. They can't say I wasn't performing my duty today. I broke the code. Nazi transmissions are being taken to His Majesty at this very moment. I did my job. There's nothing left for me to do now."_

_"Yes, there is!" he shouted back. Hands clasped her face and pulled her gaze toward him. "You promised to marry me once the war ended. It has to be over soon. Please, Mae, you have to stay for that."_

_The most serene, calm smile plumped her red painted lips as the tears smudged her black lashes. "We helped protect the goodness in the world, didn't we, darling?"_

_"There's still work to be done," he whispered back. "Don't give in. Please, angel-face."_

_It didn't take a genius to see that Mae couldn't move. She hadn't even flickered a hand despite one of them lying quite close to her face. Knowing she couldn't touch his face in those last moments broke him. Watching the soul bleed away from her sparkling eyes defiled the sanctity of what they'd managed to give each other even through war, but he forced himself to remain there and hold her gaze to the last. He needed her final thoughts to be of him. He needed her departing sensations to be his hands on her skin._

_"You were wearing a white dress with big red flowers," he whispered, not knowing what else to say. "MGM reserved three tables that night but we weren't told who was coming until photographers outside told us Viv and Clark were on their way with crew and friends. Then I saw you walk in with Viv and she whispered something behind her handbag. You threw your head back and laughed. I couldn't breathe. So I asked my staff who you were, one by one, until I figured out you were making a movie for Paramount."_

_"_ Fire By Moonlight _," Mae reminisced with him._

_Taking her back to that time left her calmer and focused. Anything to keep her breathing. He never broke eye contact as he smiled at the memory. "Yeah,_ Fire By Moonlight _. I managed to bump into you on the balcony, remember? You were smoking a red-tipped cigarette. The breeze caught your skirt and you held it down, which let me see your profile before I came outside."_ _  
_

_"I remember." Eyes fell closed with a dreamy sort of smile in spite of the blood sliding down her face and smoke filling the flat. "Viv said later that you paced inside the balcony door like you couldn't find your nerve. She found it all rather endearing."_

_"I never told you but that night...." His voice shook and he broke off, unable to say it. If he spoke the words, he knew it would be the last time._

_"You loved me," she whispered as if she hadn't believed it before._

_"The way the stars love the moon," he replied quite painfully. Reciting a line from that film she'd been making when they met gave him a measure of comfort. A shaky breath left his chest and he traced the contours of her face under his fingertips. "I will find you, Mae. If there's a Heaven, I'll beat down the gates and find--"_

_Deafening noise. Heat. Boiling flesh._

_Blackness._

_Nothing._

Sam Winchester bolted upright, springing from the nightmare directly into the twenty-first century. It took quite a long time before he convinced himself that he'd been asleep in his bed in the bunker and not actually running through the streets of London during Nazi bombing raids. He clutched fistfuls of sheets that still smelled like Amy, which didn't help clarify his sense of reality.

He threw back the blankets and groped in the darkness for his laptop on the desk, still too disoriented to think of something as simple as switching on a light. Enough was enough. Sam had to prove to himself that it was just stress, just a simple nightmare brought on by the pressures in his life.

A half-hour passed as Sam read through one internet article after another. He searched for the names that came up in his nightmare thinking none of them would check out, but there it was, spelled out in black and white. Jack Perry had been quite a respected property owner in Los Angeles through the 30s until he gave it all over to his partner to follow a starlet to England in 1942. Names. So many names. Clark Gable had been a frequent customer in his restaurants and introduced Vivien Leigh to them while the pair filmed  _Gone With the Wind_. Carole ... yes, she was real too. She'd been killed in 1942 not many years after marrying Gable. And yes, "Viv" had been in London filming  _Caesar and Cleopatra_ during the bombings in 1944.

Everything checked out and Sam wanted to puke. He did, in fact, run across the hall to the bathroom and vomit into the toilet after he found an old black and white photograph of Viv, Larry, Clark, and Carole toasting the camera in one of Jack's restaurants. They were discreet places, safe havens, and there beside Viv sat the petite figure wearing a white dress with large flowers. Near Gable on the opposite end of the plush booth, Sam recognized himself--a smaller version of himself with short cropped hair slicked to one side.

Castiel nearly scared the piss out of him as he stumbled into the hallway. The angel stood as silent as a messenger of death, not even wearing his tan jacket. His shirt buttons hadn't even been buttoned. The angel had rushed out of Dean's room as if sensing Sam's trauma.

At first, Sam couldn't move. He still tasted vomit in his throat. But before his senses connected with his body, Sam flew at Castiel, grabbing him by the shirt and throwing him against the wall.

"Is this why she can't walk now? Some cosmic bullshit leftovers from dying in the war? Tell me the truth, you son of a bitch!"

Of course none of it was Castiel's fault--he hadn't even been there--but Sam hurled abusive language at him. A wrathful fist pounded the angel's face, which, of course, did no damage and he didn't even seem to feel it. Sam's rage flowed wickedly and Castiel took the brunt of the abuse with patience and fortitude.

Finally, when Sam had no strength left, he sank to the floor and seriously considered vomiting again.

A peaceful hand slipped over his shoulder after a moment and Castiel's voice hit his ear in a quiet, persevering tone. "I saw what you remembered. I knew nothing about it before but I think you know that." He paused as if debating with himself about what he should say. "Sam, you kept your promise. This is the core of your being. You've always made the lives of those around you better and easier because you lead by example."

Bleary-eyed, Sam looked up at Castiel. Oddly, the hall light hovered around him with an angelic glow.

"You promised you would find her again and you did," Castiel said. He crouched beside Sam, still so patient. "You view her circumstances as punishment but that's not the case. They're reminders. She gave you both breadcrumb trails to follow by choosing to live this life unable to walk and to resemble the friend who encouraged her to trust you. What you view as unjustified punishment is truly a series of choices made before she was born to give both of you the best chance of finding each other again."

Silence. He couldn't get his head around choosing to live such a limited life but she was also so blase about it too. Like it was never the thing that mattered.

"Only the bravest souls take on these challenges. Both of you were the correct choices in being made celestial, though you won't recognize your contributions to humanity until you return home."

"To Heaven," Sam said, his voice dry.

"Yes," replied Castiel.

Sam felt like a giant exposed raw nerve. He took the deepest breath his body could muster and sat on the floor with Castiel, silent, for an hour.

*****

Breaking into a group home wasn't the highest on Sam's list of accomplishments but there was nothing that would stop him from seeing her. Though he still didn't know what he would say once he got up to her room, he climbed the back porch, a garden trellis covered in vines, a drainage pipe, and then finally the siding itself. He had broken into a thousand other buildings before but never for a girl. Not even Jess.

He popped one of the screens on her bay window and wiggled his pocket knife in the lock until it gave way. Gauzy curtains split open as he fed his enormous frame through the window without making too much noise.

Amy's petite figure lay facing away from him, black hair splayed over one of her pillows. The kitten Mooney's head popped up over her and he sniffed the air to identify the intruder. Feeling the kitten move must have woken her, thankfully. Sam started feeling like a creep standing there in her darkened room watching her sleep. She rolled, looking back over her shoulder, and confusion confounded her sweet, sleepy features. The stringy little strap of her white nightgown fell off her shoulder in her drowsy state. Something about the relief of seeing her alive, safe, and resting comfortably ripped open Sam's raw nerves again.

"Sam? What are you doing here?" Her voice so thick with sleep maintained a lower tone than it had when she was Mae, yet it was all her no matter which body she occupied.

"I...." Really, what was he doing there?

Amy sensed his distress. She blinked, waking more, and made room for him. "Come here. Take that stuff off. Come on to bed, Sam." It was as if she knew but chose not to say a word about it.

Obeying and relieved, Sam kicked off his boots and came closer as he peeled off his shirt. He stripped down to his boxers and climbed under the comforter with her, immediately pulling her close. He should have explained himself or made some excuse about it being their first night apart since they met, but they hadn't even shared a bed in the bunker. The truth wouldn't move past the oppressive lump in his throat.

"You remembered something," she murmured, not at all accusatory but utterly empathetic.

Still unable to speak, Sam nodded, their noses brushing together.

"Okay," she replied in her gentle way, which she seemed to save for private moments. "Don't talk about it tonight. Or at all if you can't."

To say he was relieved put it mildly. His body lost its tension and the coursing adrenalin from the nightmare left him feeling like a giant noodle. For the moment, it was enough to simply be there and console himself with feeling her close and perfectly safe. Part of his consciousness still felt stuck like the Nazis were a real threat and he wasn't sure how to pull himself back to a complete sense of  _Sam_. Maybe Sam--and Jack, along with the other identities he'd carried--was just a label, an illusion, while the real him rose higher above labels, names, time, and space. Maybe that was what Castiel meant by coming to understand himself as a celestial being.

Amy's cheek rubbed across his, nuzzling him and coming to rest with her mouth pressed into his shoulder's bare skin. Without actually having the ability to hold onto him like another woman would, she still completely enveloped him with her presence. The broad expanse of his hand slid around the corner of her jaw and into the underside of her hair.

Feeling the dampness slide between her smooth skin and his face, he realized his cheeks were wet. He'd been releasing the past all night in bouts of tears that should have left him emasculated. Yet all he felt was gutted--hollow and waiting to be filled with truth and the things he'd sacrificed to be one of the world's saviors. The two of them would have been old by then, having raised a family with old war stories, and Sam Winchester would never have been born the boy with demon blood.

"Quiet," she whispered not as an order but a plea for his peace. She rose up enough to look him in the eye then. "You're spiraling away. Find your footing."

Sam closed his eyes and did his best to pull himself together. It made sense now why Castiel had warned him about the human mind being so easily broken by living through more than one life. In the darkness of his closed eyes, he felt Amy nuzzle close again and his nerves slowed into something less explosive.

Hands found her hair, the line of her spine, and he nudged her forehead, bringing her mouth toward his. The practicality of things suddenly filled his mind, which he found so oddly comforting, and he hung onto the simplicity of being there. Truly, he wanted to lose himself in making love but he kept himself keenly aware of his tendency to get rough and carried away. She wasn't like other women, and it didn't bother him anymore, except for the worry that he might hurt her. Losing himself crept in as his kiss grew more possessive, tugging at her lower lip from time to time.

"Sam," she whispered in a heady daze. "Don't worry. I feel you worrying. It's still me in here."

"I know." Busted, he knew he'd never get away with anything for the rest of his life. "I don't wanna--"

"--You won't hurt me. Now shut up and treat me like a woman."

The corner of his mouth turned up against his will. Pale green eyes twinkled at him in the dark, breaking the awful, awful tension of his past life flashbacks. Hope crept in. She giggled lightly and it was quite possibly the most beautiful sound he'd heard in a long time.

"I love you," he whispered.

Making right on his regrets began there that night. He'd been too cowardly to say he loved her in 1944, and he intended to tell her every day after that. So what if it made him sappy? They were five-hundred-years-old for Christ's sake. If anyone in the universe deserved a break and private moments to be as sappy as they wanted, it was them. Frankly, Dean and Castiel deserved the same. But Sam didn't want to think about them that night. He wanted to pretend that nothing evil in the world existed.

"I love you back," she murmured.


	5. Chapter 5

Three weeks on the road gave Sam time to get a grip on himself and, as Amy put it, find his footing once more. Being on the hunt like a bloodhound sniffing out the trail always set a Winchester right; not that things were perfect but he did gain better perspective. On the other hand, he couldn't stand being away from her for that long. The morning after he spent the night with her, Dean had a lead on Gadreel, while Castiel disappeared to deal with his fellow angels on the hunt for Metatron. Just like that, they drove straight into the storm again.

"Dude, are you kidding?"

"What?" Sam asked, though he barely looked up.

Dean snatched a small photograph framed in silver from the top of his duffle bag, which he regretted not zipping after his shower. If there was any doubt for his brother before, those doubts were obliterated by finding that picture. Sam had taken a selfie angle of himself with Amy's face lying on his shoulder the morning that he hit the road with Dean. At the first drugstore where they stopped, he had two printed--a larger one mailed to her and a smaller one carried in his bag.

"This isn't your bed." It came out as a half-question.

"Nope. It's Amy's," replied Sam through a thin smirk.

"Oh. _Oh_...." Dean's brow arched and then he dropped the picture in the bag again. "What're you doing?"

A quick glance at the neighboring motel bed never interrupted Sam's pen across the notepad page. "Writing to her."

It'd been the first exchange since they parted ways with Jody Mills, who'd taken on the care of a girl cured of vampirism. Dean hadn't taken things well--in fact, he'd killed a blood sucker and _enjoyed_ the act of murder. Daily, he dissolved further and further, plunging into the blackness of the Mark of Cain, and Sam wrote it all for Amy. She was his living journal; the only living soul who could possibly understand the anguish and fear he felt in watching helplessly as his brother descended into Hell.

Dean eyed him and took a swig from his beer bottle. "Doesn't she text?"

"She can't touch texts." He scratched out a mistake, then shifted the notepad on his thigh for a more legible angle.

"Okay, I don't get it."

"Psychometry."

Dean answered him with a blank, slightly drunk stare.

That had been something they used to know like the alphabet, like all other forms of extra-sensory perception, learned in simpler times when ghosts were there biggest threat. "Taking in psychic energy by touch...." He waited for it to click in Dean's brain.

"Oh, right." The older brother nodded and turned his attention back to the Clint Eastwood movie. "You're really mental over this chick. Makes sense, I guess." He twirled his finger around the side of his head rather than point out Sam had once been a psychic demon killer too. "'S'good. You need someone."

"Everybody does," Sam replied quietly. He chose not to point out that Dean _really_ deteriorated since Castiel left to aid the angels.

Silence divided the brothers again as Sam poured out his letter. He's been writing to Amy as often as he could on the road, although he never stayed in once place long enough for her to write back. Giving her something real that he touched and put energy into allowed her to feel him close by, she'd explained, and she kept the letters in a box under her bed. For her, Sam saved the emails she sent so she could print them and keep them in her box too. Something in her needed to preserve the relics of their relationship as if her subconscious mourned the loss of not having anything left of Jack and Mae. Being lost and forgotten appeared to be a real concern for her. He didn't mind. Writing that way actually emptied his mind enough to sleep better at night.

"Cas hasn't called." Dean blurted it quietly but with a suddenness that suggested he'd lost touch with basic social graces.

Pen stopped, Sam lent his attention. "What?"

"Cas," he repeated, looking his way. "He hasn't called in two days. Two and a half, really."

"Well..." Sam tiptoed ahead carefully. "I'm sure he's got a lot on his plate with angels at war and trying to find a way back into Heaven. I wouldn't worry. Cas, he's, he's smart, you know? He can handle himself."

Souring and shaking his head, Dean rejected the theory. "I didn't say I was worried." There were words there, words that wouldn't shove past some mental block. Eyes turned toward the television again as if that made it easier. "I just ... wanna hear from him."

"Oh, you miss him," Sam decided with a nod. "I get it. I'm right there too."

"Yeah, but I'm not ... _you_."

It sounded like an insult to the untrained ear but Sam understood what Dean meant. He wasn't someone who expressed what he felt, not that Sam was a poster child for mental health, but at least he'd maintained outside relationships at different points in his life. He couldn't be pissed at Dean for viewing emotional attachment as a weakness even though everything in him seemed eager to stay angry at his brother forever. Dean really just didn't know how to exist in a good relationship. Castiel was the closest he ever got to happiness and Sam knew things would fall apart if the angel got killed.

"Just send him a little text," suggested Sam, bypassing the complex analysis of Dean's futile struggles against the Mark of Cain and his humanity. "You don't always need a reason to talk to the guy. Life's not all blood and gore."

"Isn't it?" Dean gave a dark chuckle as he lazily flipped his phone around and around on his thigh. "Listen, Sammy, I dunno what's gonna happen. Before I get any deeper with this mark bullshit ... I feel it pulling at me ... I don't like what I'm becoming. If it gets bad enough, just, you know, I ... I'm sorry. About everything. I know that's not good enough and, you know, _whatever_ , but I am sorry whether you buy it or not--"

"--Dean--"

"--So if this shit gets worse and something bad happens, Sammy, you're gonna go grab that girl and you're gonna give the honest life your best shot. I dragged you back into this after you got away from it. No, I don't regret a second of hunting alongside my brother but one day ... One day's coming, I guess, and you gotta do what you gotta do." Dean's voice trailed off and lines creased his brow the way they did when something unbearable crossed his mind. "Just ... just keep Cas ... Uh ... Don't let Cas ... I don't think he'd be okay. I wasn't ... I mean, I thought he was dead a couple of times and ... You gotta pull Cas through, Sammy. For me."

There was a lot Sam could have said. He could have even argued and reminded Dean that an I'm sorry wasn't going to erase everything he'd done in the name of his twisted idea of brotherhood. But to Sam, that seemed like beating a dead horse. No, he wasn't okay yet. He might never be able to completely forgive either. But Dean came to him from a more honest place right there and that was a start. It have him hope that they could repair the damage and be normal brothers someday, if Dean could be cured of the Mark of Cain.

Yeah, there was a lot Sam could have said. Instead, he nodded. "I got it, Dean."

*****

The vampires were dead. Metatron scurried back up to Heaven with Gadreel and not even Castiel had any solid leads, though rumblings of an army forming around him seemed hopeful. And without any new leads on the First Blade or Abaddon's whereabouts, Sam insisted that they go back to Kansas for a quick breather. It was a bit selfish, maybe, but he needed to recharge and spend a little time with Amy.

He fought the urge to call her once they hit the county line and tell her that he was coming home. The rarity of a  _nice_ surprise in his life kept him from dialing the number though. Instead, he called Horizon House to make sure she wasn't going on one of their outings that day.

"You can take Baby today. Just dump me off at the bunker," Dean said.

"You don't wanna see Amy?" Part of Sam still needed them to get along and that surprised him.

Stoic--maybe even a little remorseful--Dean shook his head. "Nope. Now's not the time for apple pie and barbecues, Sammy."

The older brother isolated himself more and more. They both knew it. He still felt like he was poison, probably now more than ever, and Sam wondered if he could ever come back from that. Dean drove out of their way to get back to the bunker without much to say at all. It was better, Sam learned weeks ago, to let Dean go silent when it struck him because prying open his mental state was about as successful as shoving a hand into boiling water.

With just a few minutes to shower up and change his clothes, Sammy hit the road again, backtracking forty miles to Horizon House. She lived pretty far from him but the places closer to the bunker looked scuzzy and he just couldn't do that to her.

The three house vans weren't in the driveway when Sam pulled up but it looked like nurses were still there. He knocked before poking his head in the front door, uncertain if it was just a walk-in as you please kind of public place or a knock and wait kind of place like a private home. Last time he'd been there, he'd broken in through Amy's third floor window.

"Hi, Sam," one of the nurses greeted in the living room with another wheelchair-bound resident.

"Hi," he replied, uncertain. "Uh, how do you know my name?"

The blonde nurse smiled indulgently. "I filled in for Tina last week. I recognize you from the picture in Amy's room."

"Oh...." The smile Sam made felt stupidly bashful and damn if he didn't want to roll his eyes at himself. He cleared his throat and sought the quickest exit. "Is she here or did I miss her? Those vans out there are gone."

"Yeah, everybody went shopping but a couple stayed behind. Amy's upstairs. She decided not to go."

"Okay, thanks."

At least there was that. With a nod, Sam made a hasty move for the stairs, driven by both his desire to see her after weeks apart and to escape that  _oh how cute_ look on that nurse's face. Everything about his life had been under the radar for years and he decided he'd forgotten how to live out in the open. The last time had been with Jess. She was, in fact, one of the great loves of his life--along with Amy, he suspected--but Jess never knew what he was or how his childhood evolved beyond vague references of stories omitting the truth. Amy knew everything though. They were two of the same kind, neither human nor immortal. He had to get used to living in the open as her boyfriend if they'd both gotten busted carrying pictures of each other.

"Open Microsoft Word. File. Open. Select journal dot doc."

Sam leaned on Amy's doorframe, unnoticed for the moment. She sat at her desk situated near the bay window with her laptop open and thin a microphone beside it. The laptop intelligently obeyed her verbal commands without a hand touching it once. Black hair didn't shock him so much anymore, or maybe he was just that relieved to be in the same room with her again. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile as he watched Amy there, wearing a springy dress caught somewhere between purple and blue.

Off to the other side of her room, he noticed a silver framed picture of them placed prominently on the nightstand, taken the same morning he left on the road with his brother. It wasn't just a picture. It was a statement. She had someone where she'd been alone before.

"Mail call, miss," he said quietly.

Over her shoulder, Amy's profile appeared. His lips spread into an affectionate smile as his head tipped to the opposite side. Pulling an envelope out of his pocket, he waved it and she shrieked as she spun around with an exuberant greeting. Sam clutched the envelope against his wrist and clasped her face tenderly in his hands for a long overdue kiss. Honeysuckle perfume brought him back home again.

"You said you weren't coming until next week," she murmured with another joyful kiss.

"We needed a break," he replied, feeling himself go darker.

Amy smiled against his mouth. "Well, I'm glad you're here. Don't worry. We're gonna set you right again. You feel all kinds of off-balance." She sobered and observed him carefully, pulling up between his knees as he sank on the edge of her bed. Her face fell in empathy. "Oh hon...."

"I'm okay," he lied, glancing her way as he rubbed his forehead.

"You're exhausted," she argued. "Is Dean no better?"

There wasn't much Sam could say to that question.

Her lips pursed into consternation. "He's worse." A frustrated sigh left her chest as her eyes absently averted to the kitten strolling along the floor. "What can I do to help?"

"There's nothing any of us can do," said Sam regretfully. "Just gotta watch him and try to keep him from killing people or ... or himse--"

"--No, honey, that's not what I meant. I asked about what I can do  _to help you._  My concern is you, not your brother. He has Cas for that," she said, making the point quite clear that Sam still struggled to think about his own needs once in a while. She gave him a minute to consider that point before asking again, "What can I do to help?"

Sam sighed heavily and reached out for the warmth and softness of her thigh. "You can go eat somewhere with me. No diners. No fast food. Someplace nice. You can talk about normal stuff with me."

A slow nod and smile agreed with his plan. "You got it, sugar."

*****

An amazing crab leg dinner, conversation about completely mundane things, followed up by a blissfully exhausting bout of lovemaking in Sam's bunker room completely replenished him. Amy was like a little battery pack of life. People would never know, after he spent a couple of hours with her, that he had just come off the road from witnessing completely insane things involving angels and demons. Honestly, who lived that way?

As Sam laid in bed with Amy draped across his chest, he lazily combed his fingers through her black hair and decided that she was his touchstone with reality. She knew everything about what he did. Instead of recoiling in fear, especially after he found the angel who possessed him--Gadreel--she replied to his letter with a thoughtful and deep email encouraging him to analyze his feelings about it and realize what elements from the experience could be used to help others. She didn't cover it over with a Band-Aid and tell him everything would be all right. Her realistic, deep-thinking way of approaching life encouraged him to utilize his own way too, which was so similar to hers.

"You're the only guy I've known who can be filled with so many thoughts after sex like that," Amy murmured sleepily.

He chuckled with the same lazy sleepiness in his tone. "Have there been a lot?"

"A few," she replied. He felt her smirk.

It didn't fan the fires of jealousy. Maybe it should have, but he simply continued threading his fingers through her hair. He knew past men just didn't matter. The last time he's been that certain was with Jess. That gave him a measure of comfort about both women, because he still loved Jess as well, but he trusted his judgment when it came to those undeniable sensations.

"Do I look like Mae?" Amy inquired.

The question took him by surprise and his rhythm of fingers through her hair hesitated. "No. I remember Mae with curly light brown hair--kinda golden--and big blue eyes." Mae's face resurfaced in his mind as she gazed into a gold compact and slid a tube of wine colored lipstick over her mouth. "You look like Viv today."

"You say that so casually-- _Viv_. No big deal, I'm besties with Vivien Leigh."

"But you were her bestie," Sam said, borrowing her term.

"I know," she said with a sigh. "It just hits ear strange. I don't remember her like you do. I don't remember any of this like you do, actually. Is that a blessing or a curse? If I thought highly enough of her to resemble her this much today, then she must have been really impressive."

"Fragile. She was fragile. It's the only word I can think of," he said, although he never really thought about that woman very much aside from her connection to Amy. "You look like her by your own choice. That's what Cas said. You left a breadcrumb trail to make sure we'd find each other again. And it's weird he said that because the first time I saw you in the hospital, I thought to myself, 'Weird. She looks like the _Gone With the Wind_ chick.'"

"Really? You weren't thinking about the wheelchair first?" Skepticism laced her tone.

"No," Sam replied truthfully. "I didn't notice it right away."

"Oh God, I love that." Her body curled tighter over him, small and light as she was, and let out a contented breath.

They fell into silence again, as people tended to do in the dark of night isolated together. Conversation rose and fell in natural rhythms--the silent periods just as meaningful as those filled with questions. Dinner came with probing thoughts of whether they were rushing into their relationship, but after awkward glances over crab legs, they both admitted dying together in the war probably negated a lot of dating rules. They decided this was it. They were in it for the long haul. Five hundred years of serving mankind as pseudo-celestial beings justified living as they pleased for their remaining time on earth.

"What do you wanna do with your life?" Amy asked after a long silence.

Again, her question took Sam by surprise. He suspected she'd been listening to his thoughts, but it became natural the more it happened. "I ... I dunno. I never think about that stuff. We don't, really. Hunters, I mean. We just live day to day and hope we survive the next job."

"Surviving isn't living," she countered. Of course, she knew that from experience. "Am I gonna be a hunter's wife?"

"No," he said without hesitation. "I don't wanna get engaged or anything until I'm done with hunting. I can't give it up yet. Dean needs me. I need to stop Gadreel. I dunno how long I'm gonna be a hunter but it won't be forever. This was never the plan for my life."

"What were you supposed to do?"

"I was headed for law school." It sounded so weird coming out of his mouth at that stage in his life.

It didn't sound strange to Amy though. "I could see that." She turned the matter over in her mind, as was her habit with weighty issues, he'd learned. Then she nodded on his chest. "Okay. I'm a hunter's girlfriend. Maybe someday I'll be a lawyer's wife. I think you could still do that."

"But what if you end up being a bartender's wife or something instead?"

"Okay. Whatever."

With a shrug, Amy's face turned up to him with her chin resting on his chest and, reclining on his pillow, Sam brushed the hair from her face. The direction of his life didn't seem to matter much to her. Her line of questions read to him more as what she should prepare herself for in the future. Just the ability to have choices with someone to back him up felt new and interesting.

"What about you though?" he probed with the singular desire to make sure she wasn't just living for him.

"I have a history degree to finish," she said, which came as a relief to him. "Well, being Elizabeth Roland will make me start over again but hey, I'll get better grades the second time around."

Sam smiled in the dark, endlessly impressed with her ability to adapt. "What are you gonna do with that kind of degree?"

"Books," she said. "I'm gonna write books on real occult history, not the crap people buy now."

"Wow...." mumbled Sam. It occurred to him that he was qualified to do things like that too and something within felt the electric charge of excitement and anticipation.

*****

The first rule of being a hunter was beaten into Sam's head from his earliest memories. Never let your guard down. The second you feel safe, a volcano of bullshit erupts in your face.

His father's words passed through his brain the second he saw Amy's number pop up on his phone screen four days after their reunion. He felt it. That jolt of painful electricity at the base of his neck told him immediately that he hadn't taken enough steps to protect her. She wasn't supposed to call that day. They were both so occupied--Sam with keeping Dean in check, and Amy with physical therapy and registering for online classes.

"Babe?" was how he answered the phone.

"Sam?" she whispered. "Sam, there are people in the road. There's something weird about them. They keep looking up at my window and one of them flashed his black eyes when he noticed me. You said demons can't get up here to my room, right?"

Shit. Sam ran through the bunker to Dean's room with the phone pressed to his ear. "Yeah, I warded your room against demons. Look outside. Is there a red-headed woman?"

A pause. Shuffling. She had her phone on speaker so she could use it from her wheelchair. "Yeah. Red hair, looks like a model. Couple of guys with her. A girl too. Really young. Oh God. Is that woman Abaddon? I can feel you freaking out, Sam!"

"Stay calm. You know what to do if they get close. Remember what Cas taught you." She was right though. The panic quaked inside of Sam as he put on his shoes one-handed.

"I can't kill Abaddon!" she shrieked. "Nobody can!"

"Lock your door and don't move. I'm coming!"

It took no effort at all to get Dean in the car with the news that Abaddon turned up at Amy's home. While Sam's knee bounced with incessant anxiety in the passenger seat, Dean floored it, almost giddy at the prospect of spilling blood. He didn't seem to care about Amy's safety or that of the other residents in Horizon House. Even without the First Blade to do the job, Dean appeared to itch for a showdown. Reservations about his changing brother had to be filed away for later.

Not a body or a shadow stood in the road as the Impala screeched into the yard. There wasn't even a strange car in the area. Everything looked in order and completely peaceful.

"Think they left?" Sam asked.

"No, they're here," replied Dean, slamming the car door. "I got the back."

The brothers split up with a nod and Sam concealed his demon blade along his wrist. He mounted the porch steps spilling down from between a set of ramps for visitors and staff. When he noticed nothing unusual through the window, he considered the possibility that Abaddon had already gotten to Amy. But it was quiet. All too quiet.

As he crept into the foyer, Abaddon's slinky figure crossed the living room and flashed him a smile.

"Took you long enough, Sam. Come in." Her finger traced the rim of a martini glass marked by bright red lipstick. "Did you bring your pretty, pretty brother with you?"

"Where are the residents?" Sam demanded in a low, cold tone.

"Oh, the humans on wheels," she replied with a throaty chuckle. "They're keeping my lieutenants company until Miss Amy decides to come down from that room you warded. Well done, Sam. Nobody knows a good set of warding sigils like you do." Abaddon's head tipped to the opposite side as her mind turned tracks. "Changing her name though? Did you really think that would hide her? I knew you'd eventually lead us right to the pretty little thing. You're such a sweet, predictable boy."

He didn't hear Dean moving around in the back of the house and wondered what the holdup was. Taking on Abaddon alone was impossible, especially without the First Blade. He had to stall.

"This is a lot of effort over one soul. You must be getting pretty desperate."

A quick blink spread blackness over her eyes as if it was supposed to intimidate him. Lesser men might have been frightened by those eyes paired with a snake's charming smile but demons all over Hell continually underestimated Sam. He'd come closer than anyone to becoming one of them, aside from possibly his brother, and he could never be terrified of something he understood inside and out. Abaddon misinterpreted his hesitation as fear when it was really a man strategically recognizing his limited ability in an impossible situation. Her ego was, in fact, what made her weak. Crowley never underestimated the Winchester brothers, which made him the biggest threat of all.

"You really are clueless," Abaddon quipped. "Do you even know what you are?"

"I'm well aware."

She shook her head. "I don't think you are. A normal human soul? It's like a nuclear reactor of power all packaged neat and nice for the taking. Amy's soul? Try dumping five or six atomic bombs on a nuclear reactor and you might get close to the power at my fingertips." Heels pounded the hardwood floor as she extended her hand into a claw. An unseen force hurled Sam backwards into a bookshelf. "Quit the chitchat, Sam. Call your little girlfriend down here and I won't kill you."

Laughter burst in an angry flow through Sam's throat and he rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. "C'mon, lady. You really think I'm afraid to die at this point?"

"Maybe not." Another slithery smile crept over her painted lips. "I know what you _are_ afraid of though. How's eternity in the cage with Lucifer and Michael sound? I can make it happen, Sammy boy. You're looking at a new regime."

"No, I'm looking at a demon past her prime and she knows it," Sam snarled. His muscles fought her demonic grip on him right down to their very cells and he pulled his head off the broken bookcase. Teeth clenched and eyes blazing with the hellfire he'd already experienced, he spouted, "You're _not_ taking Amy. I don't care what you do to me. Send me back to the pit, take my soul, resurrect Alistair to torture me--it doesn't matter. Take me, not her."

"Take you, huh?" Abaddon's head tipped again. She whistled and two demons wearing male meat suits appeared from the next room. "Hold him down, boys. Harvest time."

Iron hands propelled by inhuman strength snatched Sam's wrists. Bones and flesh dug into a splintered shelf until warm blood spilled into his sleeve. Painful growls and a stern grimace reacted as Abaddon took immense pleasure in ripping open his shirt. Her fingernails clawed at his flesh like she chose to torture by going in through his chest rather than removing his soul painlessly like they'd removed Amy's just before her surgery. Though he considered fighting them, Sam knew she would be the one to suffer, not him, and he couldn't live with that. She still had a shot to get away from that life wrapped up in monsters, angels, and demons, whereas he was a damaged lost cause years ago.

Sam, fighting the screams of pain boiling up through his chest, rolled his head to the side and in the heat and delirium, saw Dean with an angel blade in the hallway. Stern, mechanical, and without emotion, the oldest Winchester brother stood in front of a mossy green skirt that Sam knew to be Amy's. In spite of it all, the Mark of Cain, everything, Dean still knew what his little brother needed and he protected Amy with his own body.

Just as Sam internally made peace with losing his soul again, Amy charged ahead and knocked Dean hard enough to make him stumble. She plowed into the living room. Before the brothers could stop her, golden bursts of light exploded from the demon men's heads, and they dropped in heaps on the ground. She watched it as if she expected it.

Sam slumped to his knees as Abaddon's distraction pulled her away. Blood seeped from the fingernail tracks along his chest. Rasping, he tried to tell Amy to disappear and hide but only gulps of air and hoarse grunts emerged. He saw Dean rush in and stab the demons through their backs but they were already dead.

"The fuck?" he mumbled.

Abaddon offered a round of gentle golf clapping for Amy's efforts. "Bravo, Amy. Keep using your talents. They make your soul jucier."

"She did this?" whispered Dean, clutching Sam and helping him up.

Sam nodded helplessly as he observed the confrontation. Claw marks burned so thoroughly but he ignored his own injuries in fear for her life.

Fearlessly, Amy squinted and made a study of Abaddon. "You really just like to hear yourself talk, don't you?" she said in such an overtly calm tone that Sam knew instantly that something was up in her mind. A deadly smile appeared. "Hi. Amy Sullivan. Five-hundred-year-old celestial body chosen by Heaven to work for humanity."

"We've met, darling," Abaddon replied sweetly.

"Great," said Amy as her face darkened.

"Wonderful." The demon queen mimicked her expression.

Backing up, Sam clutched his brother's sleeve and dragged him too. Something told him not to intervene, though it went against everything in his training as a hunter as well as his love and protective desires over her. Dean's fist twitched with the angel blade as if the appendage wished for another blade altogether, yet the part of him that was still inherently _Dean_ watched the scene mixed with fear and confusion.

"What the fuck are you?" he mumbled in disbelief.

That caught Abaddon's attention. She glanced at Dean conversationally. "Don't you know? Oh, Sammy. Keeping secrets from your brother, hm? Is this your way of evening the score between you two?"

"Shut up," Sam retorted.

With a light chuckle, she ignored Sam and told Dean, "Amy, Amy, quite contrary. She's neither human nor Heaven's fairy." Abaddon switched to a deeper, hellish tone as she leaned toward Dean. "And neither is your darling baby brother. These two have a bond you can never, never, _never_ have with precious Sammy. They've known each other for five-hundred-years and never told you a word. Doesn't that make you want to slash some throats? I see it in you, Dean. You're quivering with the anticipation of the release you feel in the kill, aren't you? Know what else? Angel boy made them promise to hide it from you. Now why would he do that?" She pretended to think as a fingernail still stained with Sam's blood tapped her chin. "Oh, that's _right_! You're not altogether human either, Dean. In about four hundred years, when you're good and ripe like these fruit trees, I'll be coming to harvest. Heaven's eating itself from the inside out and nothing will stop me soon."

"Jesus fucking Christ, do you ever shut up?" Amy exploded with the pent up rage she'd been concealing behind that wall of bravery and compassion.

Windows exploded throughout the house and only Amy and Abaddon remained perfectly stoic while Dean and Sam hit the floor. He caught the hurt and fear in his brother's eyes but he couldn't do anything about it then. Shuffling feet drew Sam's attention and he glanced across the floor just as Abaddon's heels lifted off the polished wood planks. Only pointed toes on those stiletto heels frantically kicked for the stability of the floor as she slowly drifted backwards.

Sam lifted upright and watched, utterly stunned, as Amy's eyes burned bright green just the way Castiel's eyes burned bright blue when he turned up his power. As her wheelchair rolled forward, Abaddon--suspended by an invisible force around her throat--drifted backwards at the same pace.

"The thing about you demons is you think your Hell is the worst thing that could ever happen to me," Amy began in a terrifyingly soft monotone. "How does it feel, Abaddon? You're twitching. You're jerking. You're swirling around in this poor woman trying to claw your way out but I've got you locked in that body. How does it feel? This is my Hell, sweetheart, but no more. I'm taking a stand. For Sam, for Dean, for Cas, for me. _No more_."

A swift jerk of Amy's chin threw Abaddon into the crook of the ceiling and the wall. Her body twisted and a leg snapped but she couldn't speak or break free.

"We both know I can't kill you but, honey, I could spend days torturing you like this. But if I do that, I'm no better than the evil I vowed to fight five hundred years ago." Slowly, Abaddon began sliding down along a strip of drywall between busted windows. "I know what you and your kind did in the Holocaust, possessing Nazi leaders. I've remembered everything. No, I can't kill you but Dean can. One day he's gonna catch up to you and I'll be at his side when he does. I'm betting I'm just about as old as you are and you _know_ I've learned a thing or two about demons." A sickening thump dropped Abaddon. "I'd tell you to run while you can but I'm guessing you're not going anywhere on that leg."

Amy's lips twitched in a smile as her entire countenance shifted to affection, though underlying with determination. "Sam? Dean?" Just like that, she rolled on between demon corpses and a mangled Abaddon on her way out to the front door.

"I'll be goddamned," mumbled Dean, utterly wide-eyed, as he followed.

Bringing up the rear, Sam clutched his wounded chest and stumbled after them. He grabbed his phone and dialed 911 to alert the police about the break-in and the missing house residents.

*****

The velvety blanket of a night sky tucked in an empty field with only an Impala and three figures seeking a quiet moment.  
  
Dean glanced at his brother reclining on the hood for guidance. He stooped and mimicked the way Sam picked up Amy, albeit awkward, overly careful, and uncertain about touching her in the wrong places.  
  
"Are you sure about this?" Amy asked both of them.  
  
"It's our thing," replied Sam.  
  
"Anyone with balls big enough to take on Abaddon like that gets beers on Baby's hood with us," said Dean. It was an oddly welcoming thing for him to say but it sounded quite strange in his dry, emotionless voice.  
  
Though Sam sat on the hood bandaging his chest, he still supervised a rather inexperienced Dean maneuvering Amy onto the car. "Watch her feet. Man, she's a person, not a crystal vase."  
  
"Shut up! I got it!"  
  
Bubbling laughter broke their tension as Amy seemed to have bounced back quite well from meeting Abaddon. "Both of you shut up. God, you can be such broody babies. Life's not that serious."  
  
As Dean scooted back on the hood with Amy clutched in his arms, he leaned over and sandwiched between the brothers. Sam couldn't lift her as long as he was clawed up like that but Dean had offered to help as long as they didn't make a thing of it. She reclined comfortably on the windshield and the three of them lined up side by side, peering up at the starry sky for quite a while without saying a word. Dean popped the caps on three beer bottles. He passed one to Sam and placed the other one on the hood next to Amy's hip.  
  
"Now what?" Amy asked.  
  
"Now we drink," said Dean.  
  
"And decompress," Sam added.  
  
"Okay, but I just kicked some major ass. I don't really need to decompress. I feel like I could take on the entire world right now."  
  
"Yeah, that feeling won't last," replied Dean with a smirk that only came from personal experience. His eye line cut across her to his brother. "I think I like this one. She reminds me of me when I still liked this job."  
  
Sam cringed and slugged back his beer. "I can't tell you how uncomfortable I am right now. My brother thinks my girlfriend's just like him. This is just great."  
  
"No, it's awesome." Dean managed to smirk and swallow a mouthful of beer at the same time.  
  
Spring sounds of the night filled in the conversational gap as they sat drinking on the Impala together. Sam finally began to relax after the pain of nearly getting his soul stolen again. He knew Amy saved his life but he wasn't ready to bring it up yet, especially not with his brother sitting on the other side of her. He needed to let it sit awhile before he talked it over, which was his way. Chances were high that he'd get emotional about it and he really just needed them to be alone before they really got into it.  
  
Dean picked at the label on his beer bottle. He didn't decompress. He stewed. In spite of the show he put on for Amy and Sam, he held onto the hurt Abaddon inflicted by telling him so horribly about the secret they'd hidden.  
  
Awkwardly, Sam cleared his throat. "Dean...."  
  
"Don't. You had your reasons. You always do." He tossed back a third of his beer in one hefty gulp. "You made yourself clear, Sammy. You're your own man. Isn't that what you've been trying to prove since I let Gadreel possess you? I get it. You're not gonna tell me shit anymore."  
  
"That's not what it is," replied Sam.  
  
Amy kept quiet, strangely enough. She wasn't exactly a quiet sort of person but she stared toward the heavens and trying to make herself disappear.  
  
"Oh, it's not?" Chuckling, Dean reached for the cooler and got himself another beer.  
  
"I didn't tell you because Cas thought it was better this way. He wanted to be the one to tell you because, trust me, finding out you're not human's kind of a curveball you never expect. I'm still trying to get my head around it."  
  
A subtle shrug lifted Amy's shoulders. "I'm cool with it."  
  
"I may never really understand what I am, so there's no way I could explain it to you. How would I even begin to say, 'Hey Dean, you're still human but you won't be for long!' That's not exactly dinner table conversation." Sam did his best not to let his temper get away from him because the anger wasn't directed at Dean. It was directed at feeling so far removed from humanity even more than he had been when he was doing demon blood. He reiterated, " _Cas_ wanted to be the one to tell you when he thought you could take it better."

"Yeah, well, Cas isn't here," Dean murmured.  
  
Tense silence followed and Sam tried to read his brother's mental state. Amy looked over at him and apparently did the same. They gave him a few minutes to think everything over, perhaps expecting an outburst of rage, because that was how Dean reacted to most surprises those days.  
  
Slowly, he began to speak. "If you're not human, then what _are_ you?"  
  
"Celestial beings," Amy replied softly, amicably. "There isn't a word for it. Maybe I'll make up one sometime. Eighteen human souls are chosen to reincarnate for five hundred years to help along our own kind because God decided a long time ago that angels are too out of touch to help in the nuances mankind needs. Think human souls amped up on heavenly power without actually becoming angels."  
  
"And after the five hundred years?" Dean looked down at her.  
  
"We stop reincarnating and stay in Heaven," she said as if she'd worked hard to understand what she was. "The difference between us and regular human souls is we have more power and wisdom. At the end of your run, Dean, you'll be able to do what you saw me do today. If Sam didn't have such a tough mental block on everything supernatural around him, he would be able to do these things too."  
  
"I used to do it," Sam said, "but I stopped along time ago and it just sort of went away."  
  
An expression of guilt flashed across Dean's face as he looked at his brother. "I was the one who told Sammy how wrong it was. He stopped because of me."  
  
"Well, I think he can get it back," Amy replied confidently, "but only if he wants it. Obviously he's capable of doing a lot for humanity without supernatural powers like mine. I'm okay with being your Professor X."  
  
Sighing heavily, Dean's gaze drifted away from them. He took it all in but they couldn't decipher his reaction to it.  
  
"I don't wanna become this thing," he said after a few minutes. "I'm changing. I know I'm changing because I can tell by the way all of you look at me. Especially Cas. And if I really am one of these celestial things, then I've _really_ fucked up." Dean tugged back his sleeve and eyed the Mark of Cain scar. "I guess I'm handing Hell a huge weapon."  
  
"Not as long as I'm still alive," Sam said defiantly. "They almost got to me once and we all thought I was a lost cause. I still beat Hell. I'm gonna make sure you beat it too."  
  
Dean didn't say anything. There really wasn't much he could say. None of them knew how things were going to turn out and maybe they really would lose Dean to Hell in the end. Sam meant what he said, though. As long as there was still breath in his body, he wasn't going to stop until his brother lost the Mark of Cain. Not because of some twisted idea of what family was _supposed_ to be, but because Dean expressed his personal desire not to become that kind of dark creature. He intended to show his brother real family love by doing what he wanted instead of what he thought was best for him. Leading by example came easily to Sam, he realized, and if he wanted their relationship to change for the better, he had to _be_  the change.  
  
An abrupt thought occurred to Sam. "Amy, did you say you remembered something back there?" The question came out quietly in case Dean didn't want to listen.  
  
"I remembered everything. You. Me. Viv. Nazis. Everything," she whispered. "It was weird. Abaddon went after you and a white flash came over my eyes and I remembered World War II and everything else before that. I saw your Jess too. She's one of the young transfigured souls like Dean and she'll be back with him later. Your relationship was a way for her to learn about what's coming in her long life."  
  
Sam felt himself go pale and Dean squinted the way he did when he tried to understand things.  
  
"The Nazi regime and the Holocaust were creations of Hell and they want to do it again," she continued, becoming less emotional and more like a history teacher. "I was shown everything in just a couple of seconds. It was like my brain downloaded so much information. I really don't know how to process all of it right now."  
  
"It's okay. We have time to figure everything out once Abaddon's dead," Sam assured her. He twisted around and slid an arm around her shoulders. Pulling her into an embrace was careful business with his chest clawed to shreds. He kissed her temple.  
  
"That'll be a kick ass day." Dean toasted in the sky. "To that demon bitch dying!"  
  
Only when Amy giggled at Dean's toast did Sam realized she'd been crying and she spoke of the things she remembered. Wet streaks ran down her cheeks and he wiped them away with his thumb. Her resiliency struck him and she managed to pull herself out of the overwhelming sensations of remembering five hundred years and still managed to laugh.  
  
"Oh God, I'm homeless again," she moaned, just realizing Horizon House had been destroyed.  
  
"Nah," said Dean as he patted her knee. "Plenty of room in the bunker. And hey, if you end up marrying Sammy, you'll be a legacy Woman of Letters. We'll figure it out. Another hunter's wife could come stay with you while Sammy and me go hunt or something. I know a few. You can do the research and look up spells and stuff."  
  
"Like Bobby used to do," said Sam with a nostalgic, mournful look.  
  
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Like Bobby used to do."  
  
Confused, Amy's eyes darted between the two of them as she asked, "Who's Bobby?"  
  
"You've got so much to learn, Professor X," Dean said with a sincere smile. He never smiled anymore, instead saving all of them for Castiel, and Sam committed that image to memory.  
  
"Lady X," replied Amy with a beaming smile of her own. "Lady X sounds more like me."  
  
It made Sam rolled his eyes and he chuckled at their exchange. "Jesus, you really are a lot like Dean."  
  
"You're stuck with us now, Sammy," she said, green eyes shining his way.

The thickness in the air over the Impala dissipated as Dean leaned back against the windshield alongside Amy. He didn't go through beer so fast anymore. He sipped it and enjoyed it like he used to before everything got so ugly.  
  
No, he wasn't okay. None of them were, and maybe none of them would ever be okay, but honesty existed between the three of them that night. They hung onto it and took comfort in it. For now, honesty was enough. Sitting together in the middle of nowhere and having a couple of beers under the stars made them feel normal and they bathed in that sensation, washed clean of the evil invading their lives.  
  
"Guys?" Amy said hesitantly. "We gotta go back and get Mooney."  
  
"Who's Mooney?" asked Dean.  
  
Chuckling because he just knew it would go over like a wet blanket, Sam said, "I bought Amy a kitten."  
  
"Oh, Jesus fuck," muttered Dean with a hand tossed up. "I hate cats, dude! Shit. Cas is just gonna love this too. I can see it now." He mimicked Castiel's voice. "Dean, look at this majestic feline. Dean the bunker needs a cat. Dean, come pet the cat." He sighed. "Fuck...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story. It means a lot to me. I hope you enjoyed it.


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